Stockholm Syndrome
by gravity01
Summary: She broke easily. There is no question in her mind that she is mine. I should be happy! Is this not what I wanted? A real, living bride as my own? And yet, this is not what I imagined... not how I intended it to happen... Modern. EC.
1. Prologue

She broke easily.

There is no question in her mind who she belongs to. She is mine now just as I have been hers from the beginning. And yet, this is not the way I imagined it.

I must have overestimated her strength, my dear fragile girl.

It only took me six weeks.

Oh, I suppose you could argue it took longer than that. Years even. But, once I had her in my possession, it took only six weeks to make her mine.

Six weeks to destroy her.

I can almost count the stages of mind she went through before she finally succumbed to me.

There was the fear, of course, when I first brought her to me. She begged the man who took her. "Stop! Please! Let me go… I promise I won't tell anyone!"

I had him killed.

I tried to prepare a good place for her—something worthy. She wept then, curling into a tiny ball and rocking by the single window of her lavish room. It almost broke through my resolve to see such sadness. Almost.

Then came the anger. Possibly this was my favorite of her emotions. Or maybe that is just the insanity talking. I did not resent her for trying to escape, you know. I expected it—even helped to make it possible. Perhaps it was cruel of me to give her false hope, but the _life_ in her was fantastic to see. And the chase was… exhilarating.

It could not last, though. She beat me with her words and her tiny fists and I allowed it—even welcomed the attention! There was a time when I accepted her blows with the same enthusiasm in which I would accept her caresses… if only because it meant her touching me. I was pathetic, I know… but, as I said, it could not last. The day she touched my mask, something inside me broke. I know I frightened her that day, but to be fair, she frightened me first.

Oh but—the clever girl—she soon discovered how much I cared for her… how much her view of me mattered. That she could elate or crush me with a single word… glance… heartfelt sigh. I hated the power she held over me, but I could not help my reactions. I love her, you know.

When did things change between us? I cannot say, exactly… nor can I tell you why. Perhaps it was pity on her part. Perhaps—dare I hope?—there was a shred of affection behind it. Or perhaps there was no change at all. There is still the chance that it was all in my imagination, anyway.

Eventually she began to think herself in love with me. I knew it could not be true. She was just confused. She was under my spell. But I refused to let myself think such things. She had finally realized what I had known all along—that she was mine.

And yet, why am I not happier about this?

Is this not what I wanted? A real, living bride as my own?

No, not a bride… a doll. A living doll who floats around my house with hollow eyes and a haunted sort of smile. One who lies limply as I hold her at night and who kisses me when I request it, but never initiates it on her own.

Have you ever wanted something so badly that you can think of nothing else? Have you ever held a firefly so tightly in your fist that you accidentally crush it? And you are so keen on possessing it that you haven't noticed how the light has gone out? I have. I have been cruel. I have been selfish. She is my bride, but not as I intended her to be.

And that is why I had to let her go.


	2. Chapter 2

I remember the day when I first encountered Christine. She was just twelve years old and applying for one of the many fine arts schools under my control.

I did not love her then… not as I do now. I am many evil things, but I am no pedophile. And yet, something about her attracted my attention.

Oddly enough, all this happened before I even met the girl.

You see, the school had encountered some streak of difficulty and, when I became their primary donor, I insisted that I take an active role in setting everything to rights. It hadn't taken long, once those idiot managers realized it was in their best interest to put me in charge.

In a way, it was refreshing to take a hands-on approach to something after so many years of doing my work indirectly through one representative or another. I have reached a point in my life where my companies and organizations are self-sustaining, for the most part, and require only the occasional check-up. This is how I prefer things to work. It gives me time to work on my music without distraction. I am not a micromanager.

So I guess you could say that rebuilding the failing school was like a hobby for me. A way to fill my time between bouts of inspiration.

Anyway, one night I was looking over enrollment applications. Choosing the right students for the program was a vital aspect that had been sorely neglected. Not only do they need exceptional talent and skill, they need to have ambition and a teachable spirit. In short: we do not teach beginners. We merely polish what is already there.

Furthermore, this being a boarding school, we needed to find students with the right temperament to be away from home for long periods of time.

Originally the managers thought me mad. They are idiots.

I had initially wanted to go so far as to re-evaluate the existing students. Jane Larson—now known simply as _La Carlotta_—has become a quite famous opera singer… but I find her voice so despicable I cringe to have to claim her as one of our graduates.

Still, among other things I am a businessman and it would be a disaster to expel the entire student body and force them to reapply.

Ah, but I am getting off track, am I not? Right. As I was saying…

The applications that had made it through the first screening process (I let someone else take care of the busy work) came to my desk for the final approval. I skimmed essay after essay, genuinely bored, when I came across one that was so entirely unlike the others that it made me pause and look at it more closely.

For one thing, it was handwritten. Most of these applications are typed out by parents or school guidance councilors, highlighting each student's unparalleled genius and ability. The essay portion said less about the student and more about the parents' delusions of grandeur.

But this… this was so completely _genuine _that it made me smile. I stopped what I was doing to closer read an essay that was clearly written by a twelve-year-old.

_Tell a little about myself? I suspect one would have to think very highly of themselves to be able to fill up three pages on that. I don't know what you expect of me, but I'll do my best. _

_Let's see, where to begin? I am twelve and three quarters and about to enter the seventh grade. But of course you knew that since I wouldn't be applying otherwise. _

_I am much shorter and much chubbier than I'd like to be, but Father says that dieting is not for children. I have brown hair. I suppose you could call it curly if you were being especially nice but most people would call it frizzy. I have blue eyes that are just blue. They are not cobalt or sapphire or turquoise or any of those other special colors the heroines in books have. They are the kind of just blue that doesn't stand out but clashes with every shirt I own. I am very nearsighted… or farsighted… I never remember which is which. It's the one where you have to hold your book up really close and squint if you want to see it. Anyway, it means I wear big ugly glasses. The kind that make boys tease you. My dad says that someday I can get contacts when we have a little more money. _

_The more I continue on this line, the more I think that is probably not what you are looking for when you ask me to 'tell a little about myself'. I suppose it's your fault, anyway, for not being specific. I'll try to do better, though._

_I get mostly A's and B's in school and I enjoy learning very much. Well, I enjoy learning most things—biology is gross. My favorite classes are Choir and Math (not because of the numbers part, but because Mrs. Hendrickson lets me read when I finish my work early). I am also in Band but I don't tell many people that since I'm afraid the choir people will tease me or call me a traitor. _

_My strengths include singing (obviously) and acting. My weaknesses include being too timid and clumsy. I heard you had to be well-rounded to get into this program. I hope that doesn't include a dance audition. I am a klutz. And I got a C- in P.E. because I can't climb ropes._

_I think I would be good for this program because I love to learn and I want to concentrate on my singing and become a great musician. I also want to do this for my father because he is very sick and it would make him happy to know I am following my dreams. He is a violinist, by the way. We used to sing and play together all the time. Those are some of my fondest memories. Oh, by the way—this is a surprise for my father. He would be upset if I was rejected so I am not telling him I applied. Please don't tell him!_

I don't know what came over me at that point. Her application was the kind that would be rejected from any self-respecting institution. From the essay alone I could list to you all the reasons a school like this should not accept her. I should have thrown it away and fired my assistant for wasting my time.

And yet, I was enthralled.

"Jules, fetch me the audition tape for applicant 0478!" I barked.

"Right away, sir," he answered, scurrying over to the catalogue. Jules really is a good assistant to have, though I would never tell him so. I don't know why he puts up with me. I imagine he'd leave in a heartbeat if I didn't pay him so much.

The recording of her singing was truly something. Her accompaniment was nothing but a violin—her father, I assume—and it was easy to tell by her relaxed tone that she never anticipated this to turn into an audition. I could actually _hear _her smiling. Truly marvelous.

The next day I went to the advising office, bypassing the front desk (I don't need any receptionist gaping at me. That is why I do most things over the phone, you see. It's more pleasant for everyone if they don't have to cover their shock at the mask and I don't have to watch them) and heading through a special door leading straight to the headmaster's office. The funny old man doesn't even see the mask anymore. It's amazing what enough money can do.

If only there were enough money in the world to make them see past what is under the mask. But, that's neither here nor there.

"Tell me about this applicant," I said, sliding the application across the desk. I think I intimidate him. Good.

The old man gave a horrified look. "Sir, I apologize! I have no idea how that got into the packet we sent you. It must have been a filing error. I will fire that intern today. Honestly, how something like this made it through is beyond me. I am terribly sorry for wasting your time, sir!"

"_Now _you are wasting my time. Just do what I asked you to do and stop apologizing."

"Right… right." He frowned, his glasses sliding down his nose a bit, as he called her name up on the computer.

"Christine Daae: daughter of Charles and Eloise Daae… father a concert violinist, mother deceased… middle-class, Caucasian… slightly above average academics, great instructor recommendations… Oh, it would seem her application was late. That is probably why it was misfiled."

"She will be accepted."

"But sir… you can't possibly expect—"

"If you value your career, it would serve you well not to argue with me. The president and financial managers have already given me authority over the administration of this institution. They will not be happy to hear that their most generous benefactor has withdrawn his support because of a disagreement with the headmaster."

He gulped. I remember that giving me a certain amount of satisfaction. That is the nice thing about having conferences in person. The headmaster typed a few things into his computer and then submitted it for acceptance.

The computer made a sound like a buzzer.

"Oh. It appears there is a note attached to this particular file. Apparently her application has been withdrawn… relatively recently, it would seem. Diane!" he called, beckoning his secretary, "Do you know anything about this?"

"Daae? Oh yes, sir. Someone called last week and withdrew the application. Her father has recently deceased. The poor dear… he left her with nothing—no family, no money—she's in foster care now, I believe."

"Well that's that, then. I'm sorry you had to come all the way down her, sir."

"I want her at this school."

"But sir—"

"Give her a scholarship—room, board, everything. Get someone to sort out the details. I don't care what you have to do, just get her here!"

I didn't give him a chance to respond before I stormed out of there. I figured he'd find a way if he knew what was good for him. I was angry enough that I needed out of that office right then. I don't deal well with people who make things more difficult than they need to be.

The fact that she was alone in the world just made me want her more. She needed me from the beginning.


	3. Chapter 3

I tend to obsess over things, or so I've been told. I can't be sure, you see, because to me it just seems like I go into a room with an idea and I emerge two hours later only to realize it's been two days.

What I can say with absolute certainty is that I was not obsessed with Christine Daae… at least not yet.

In fact, after my chat with the headmaster, I was able to put her out of my mind almost completely.

I think if I had given it a great deal of thought at the time, I would have been severely confused about what moved me to go to such lengths to have her in my school. I did not expect anything to come from it… I don't think there was _any_ sort of selfish intent behind it.

Maybe I was just being… nice?

I wouldn't know. I have never been 'nice' before.

A few weeks after acceptance letters went out, a 'thank you' note came in the mail. It was short and sweet, like the kind you'd send to a relative you've never met. I imagine her foster parents made her write it.

_To whom it may concern:_

_Thank you so very much for admitting me to your school. I really appreciate it. Thank you also for the scholarship. This is a dream come true._

_Sincerely,_

_Christine Daae_

I don't know why, but I kept it. I found her loopy handwriting charming. Also, I think this may have been the first 'thank you' card I have ever received. It had ladybugs on it.

A day or so later it was followed up by a second, much longer letter from her foster mother.

_Dear School Administrators,_

_I wanted to express to you my sincerest thanks for the interest you've taken in our little Christine. I don't know if you are aware of her situation or not, but the death of her father nearly devastated the girl. We have done everything we can possibly think of to bring Christine's spirits up, to no avail. In fact, despite the counseling she has received and extra attention at school, the first time we have seen her smile in all these months was when she received your acceptance letter. _

_I must thank you even more for the generous scholarship. Without it, I know that Christine's dream would not be possible. My husband and I would have loved to be able to support such a specialized education for our Christine, but with 5 other children to consider, we simply do not have the means. _

_Christine's greatest wish—one that I know she shared with her father—is to become a singer. From what she has told me, she and her father used to make music day and night. From what I hear from her teachers, music was so ingrained in her life that she would often be scolded for humming tunes in class. I know that this school can help her turn those school-girl dreams into a reality. _

_I cannot thank you enough for the difference you have made in that little girl's life. _

_With all sincerity,_

_Dorothy J. Valerius _

Now what kind of hardened heart wouldn't be moved by something like that? I told myself it hadn't made an impression, but I kept it anyway.

Now I am glad I did, as the letters became the first of a collection. A tribute—if you will—to my love. And what a collection it will become!—as you will find out later. I have kept every scrap my Christine has ever given to me... and a good many that she has not.

Ah, but I am not there yet. My story must be told in the order I wish to tell it. That is the way of things.

I guess you could say my undoing began that August... two days before classes. You see, after having a few hours to settle in to their dorms, the students are ushered into the assembly room and then split off into groups. Those groups each go----

You know what… it's complicated. Suffice it to say that the students are given evaluations to help place them in appropriate classes and with the right private instruction teacher.

I hadn't planned to attend. After the first round of acceptance letters went out, I required no more dealing directly with the student population. My work rebuilding the school's mission and finances was nearly complete and now my part could be done almost exclusively by phone or computer. It was for the best. The world of men can be… taxing… for one such as myself. I constantly have to be watching my impulses—it simply would not do to hang someone in broad daylight (and, believe me, there were times when I wanted to!).

Anyway, I hadn't planned to attend.

What changed my mind was the recollection that the little Daae girl would be auditioning. Perhaps it was because I had already invested so much into her future, but I felt a sort of bond with the child. I wanted to see live the girl I met on paper.

Well, almost live. Intimidating the headmaster is one thing, but you very well can't expect me to expose myself to a bunch of gaping teenagers.

And so I dressed—high collar, long sleeves, not an inch of skin exposed… if this were the 19th century, I'd wear a cloak, but I try to be normal on occasion so I like to wear a long, black jacket—and headed off to school. I entered through that same, special entrance and demanded that Christine Daae's audition be moved to the lesson room with the two way mirror.

I don't know why I had that built. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Sitting through the auditions before hers was nearly unbearable. Because of my required change of plans, she was thrown in with a group made up of mostly third and fourth year students… you know, the ones who started the program before my time.

Actually, in retrospect, they weren't _all _bad. A few of them had potential… one boy would be quite good if he would only learn to breathe properly. I have to constantly remind myself that, talented though they may be, they are still children with years of polishing ahead of them. But—heaven help me—_I _never sounded that bad.

It was Christine's audition that captured my attention. I don't know what I expected from her, but it wasn't that. Is it possible to be impressed and disheartened at the same time?

For one thing, her technique was nearly perfect. Excellent breath support, posture, pitch… tasteful ornamentation in just the right places. Her voice was clear and bright and her words were intelligible. She had a good range that would grow with age if she didn't push it too hard.

But something was missing.

I think it was heart.

She sang mechanically… as if she had learned the song so well that she could close in on herself and think of something else.

"Ask her to sing another," I mentioned to the adjudicator through his earpiece.

"Miss Daae, do you have a secondary song prepared?"

Her eyes grew wide and I could feel the nervousness radiating off of her even through the window. Still she nodded. My brave girl.

The second piece was the same. I stopped her three measures in.

"Miss Daae, can you sight-read?" I asked through the instructor.

Again she nodded. _Speak, damn it! _

She was given page after page of new music, singing each accurately but without an ounce of passion.

Maybe the music was too hard. Maybe she was so preoccupied with the notes that she couldn't relax to the music.

"Sir," an aide whispered to me, "You've had this girl in here for nearly an hour. There are others still waiting outside."

"Just one more," I insisted.

"Sing 'Amazing Grace', Miss Daae."

She did.

It was soulless.

It was death.

And I have too much death in my life already… enough for the both of us.

"That's enough," I said. "I will teach her myself."


	4. Chapter 4

Once again, they thought I was mad. But I don't care what they think.

What _she_ thinks is all that matters.

Well... that's now. It wasn't true yet back then.

Regardless, my declaration that I would teach young Christine seemed surprising to everyone.

"I didn't realize you had intended to teach here," a woman said.

"I didn't. I still don't... but you will give me that student only."

"Why her?"

One of the administrators expected, I think, that I was an especially skilled musician. That was good intuition on his part as I do not make public performances. It probably had something to do with the suggestions and comments I was giving him during the other student auditions. He took my advice and relayed the suggestions as his own. I made him look good... which I normally wouldn't care about except that, this time, it got me what I wanted.

I am pretty sure the other faculty just figured me an eccentric, masked, rich man, with a good deal of time on his hands… one who woke up one morning and suddenly fancied himself a teacher. In a way, they were right… but that doesn't change the fact that I was confident of my superiority in the field.

I wonder how it feels to know someone could just walk in and do your job more successfully than you. I suppose it doesn't matter since I did not tell them. They are not worth the trouble it would cause.

I have little tolerance for petty egos, as you will find out later.

Anyway, the intuitive administrator I mentioned was particularly curious about what was going through my mind at the time. I almost made a joke here, but I am not a joking man. Kindly keep any comments relating to my twisted psyche at a minimum until I am too far away to strangle you.

"Why her?" he asked again, "Why not one of the other students? I am sure there are some graduating seniors who could use your help. You could probably find a handful in this group alone whose audition was stronger than Miss Daae's and who would probably benefit more from your expertise."

How could I answer that? How could I explain?

He was right; there were other students who had stronger auditions that Christine. There was a violinist who played with passion and beautiful tone. In fact, I would have enjoyed it had there not been those occasional pitch problems. I also listened to a tenor that would make an audience weep, so captivated by his charisma and emotion that they overlook his atrocious pronunciation.

But what do I care of technical problems? _Of_ _course_ I could help those students... but why would I want to? Why would I waste my time adjusting flaws that any moderately competent musician could fix?

What Christine needed... she needed something that could not be taught. And I was going to teach her.

So, how do I explain this to the man?

Easy. I didn't.

I merely looked him in the eye (I probably shouldn't do that in lighted rooms as I'm sure he found the empty black holes of my eyes a little unsettling) and I responded, "I have made my choice. Do not give Christine Daae a voice instructor. I will take care of the rest."

---

Ha! I still remember the confused look on poor Christine's face when she received her class schedule. I managed to tap into one of the security cameras just so I could see her expression.

_Course Schedule-M,W,F_

_Intro to Music Theory—Rm. B118_

_Intermediate English—Rm. A221_

_Concert Choir—Rehearsal Studio C_

_LUNCH_

_Algebra—Rm. A215 _

_Vocal Pedagogy—Rm. B144_

_History of Music I—Rm.B223_

_Congratulations ----__Christine Daae----, y__our private instruction teacher is: -----__N/A-----__. Please see him/her immediately to schedule a lesson time. _

She made this adorable little pout as she looked it over. I knew the exact moment when she saw the last part because her scowl deepened and she flipped the paper over to see if there was some mistake. It took her a moment, but she found and read the sticky-note that had attached itself to the inside of the envelope.

_Miss Daae—_

_Please report to Practice Room 5 tomorrow at 8 a.m. _

I watched her as she re-read both the schedule and the note, trying to sort it out. That's when she was approached by another girl. She was tiny… pixyish even. I recognized her since I know her mother, Mrs. Giry. She is in charge of the first through third-year floor of the girl's dormitory where she… I don't know… checks curfew, kisses bruises, cures sniffles… whatever it is a mother does. I wouldn't know. I never had one.

But anyway, her daughter is Christine's age and enrolled in the dance program. That'll be good for her. I see her going far.

Knowing Christine would be in good hands, I took my leave. I'd see Christine again soon enough.

Nevertheless, I don't suppose I slept much at all that night. I can't describe to you the unmitigated excitement I felt in the early hours before our first lesson. The prospect of mastering something impossible is always so thrilling.

Is that why I was doing it? A challenge for myself? Or was I driven by my connection to Christine? Could it be that Fate was drawing us together even then? Or could it just be part of some sick game I was playing to pass the time?

I can't say, exactly—things start to get a little hazy around that time.

---

If she was confused about her schedule, she was utterly bewildered after our first lesson.

She showed up at exactly 8 o'clock, in Practice Room 5. That is my room by the way—have I mentioned that already? No matter, I'm saying it now. It is the one renovated under my specifications (for motivations which were, at the time, completely unclear)… the one with the two-way mirror. Remember now? Excellent.

I was behind said two-way mirror—which is why, when Christine entered the room at precisely 8 o'clock, she found it curiously empty. I watched her a few moments before I spoke… just to see what she would do.

She sighed irritably and then yawned. Christine does not know how to hide her emotions. Therefore, I could easily sense what she was thinking: _If you're going to drag me here at eight in the morning, the least you could do is show up yourself. _

Christine is not a morning person, which I learned quickly. That is fine; neither am I.

Deciding to end her frustration, I finally made myself known, using the microphone on my side of the studio.

"Miss Daae, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Hello? Is someone here?"

"You are here to begin your lessons, correct?"

"Where are you?"

_Erik is everywhere. _"I am close enough."

"I… I got a note… um… telling me to come here. Can… can you tell me what it's about?"

"Certainly. Have you received your class schedule?"

"I have."

"Tell me, child, who is your vocal instructor?"

"I… I don't have one." Her voice wavered a little. I hadn't realized how much such a concept would upset her. Did she think she had been forgotten? Possibly wondering if she was not worthy of any teacher?

I tucked that away to ponder later and continued. "That is not entirely true, Miss Daae. You were not assigned a traditional, faculty teacher because you will be taking lessons from me."

"Who are you?"

"I am your teacher, Christine, and only yours." _Did I not just say that? Keep up, girl!_ "No one else knows of me as my instruction is reserved for you alone."

"I don't understand…"

"You do not need to. Let us begin with your scales, agreed?"

I knew she had a thousand more questions to ask—Christine, you curious child!—but I was not ready to answer them. And so I made her sing. A lovely distraction for us both, don't you think?

She was so easy to manipulate back then… so eager to believe anything I said. She needed someone to trust in, just as I desperately needed someone to believe in me.

I am an evil creature.

But… perhaps not so evil… just broken. That's what Christine told me once before—

Well… _before_.


	5. Chapter 5

As far as lessons go, I'd say this first one was a complete and utter failure.

I guess you could say there were… technical issues.

For one, I can't exactly fit a piano in that tiny room behind the mirror. I don't know how many of you have tried to do your scales and warm-ups without any accompaniment, but let me assure you that it is… challenging.

I should have brought my violin. That would be a start.

Briefly, I thought to acquire one of the student accompanists (they each have a specific quota of students they must accompany each term) to play for us. I tossed that idea out quickly. Logistically, it just wouldn't work because I am not willing to specify end-times for each session. Plus there was the matter of privacy—the last thing I'd need was for the pianist to go around gossiping to her (it would have to be a _her_, by the way) friends about the mysterious invisible teacher. Of course there'd be all the speculation and rumors and… well, it would just be terribly _inconvenient _for everyone involved.

But there was more to it than that.

I think I had become almost… possessive… of these lessons. I don't know why, but I could not fathom another person intruding on our time together. This was my special time with my student… it was just us and music and the rest of the world could go to hang itself. I treasured this time and, so help me, no one was going to ruin it!

This, I suppose, sounds a little odd considering I'd only had that one nightmarish lesson to go on.

But I believe that, in my mind, it had already become so much more.

Have you ever thought of something so often and in such detail that you start to believe it might be true?

I could think of nothing else but these lessons from the moment I heard Christine's auditions. I dreamed of all the different techniques I would try, all the things I would say to her… would she respond quickly or would she need clarification? Would she fight me or would she take my direction? Does she need to be commanded or gently coaxed? I thought of all the things I could say to her and contemplated every possible reaction.

I dreamed of all the songs I would choose for her—even the ones that have not yet been written.

Oh the expectations I had! The possibilities! The potential!

When I met Christine, she did not know how to dream… and so I dreamed her dreams for her. She would become great.

That first lesson just solidified in my mind all of my imaginings in such a way that, when it was all over, it felt as if I had been with Christine her entire life. I felt more connected with her than I should have, considering I knew little about her and she knew nothing of me. But that's beside the point.

So, a student accompanist was out, a violin was limited, and the piano was _inside_ the practice room. It's no wonder why I was so irritated.

I should not have taken it out on Christine, though. At least—I think that's what I did. My memory fades a little when I'm frustrated.

"We're finished for today, Christine."

"But, sir, we only just started…"

"I have heard enough. Leave now."

"Can I at least know your name? Or see your face? I don't even know who—"

"GET OUT!"

I don't recall my words being so bad… maybe it's how I said them. Either way, by the way the child paled and tensed, I gather that I scared her very much.

Oh… I do hope she didn't cry over it. I had not considered that before…

But it wasn't all bad… this first lesson did bring about the first spark of inspiration Christine ever gave to me. It had to do with that blasted piano.

I am not only a musician… did you know that? Oh, I believe if my mind was confined to one subject it would not take long for it to self-destruct.

As it is, my music can take on a… disturbing… quality when there are too many unacknowledged thoughts running around my head. My mind is always busy, you see… always demanding something to do. I don't sleep much.

And so I do many things. I am an architect, a scientist, an inventor, a businessman, a ventriloquist, a magician, and a wealth of less respectable things.

Christine had inadvertently given me a splendid idea, though. I went to my study and began designing.

I found a way to run a cable through the floor, connecting the grand piano with a keyboard on my side of the wall.

It was a little like a player piano, do you know what I am referring to? Not the old-fashioned ones… the new ones operated by computers. It is similar in concept, except I'd be the one controlling it from the other room.

It was a brilliant idea, if I do say so myself. I would have marketed it but… well, you see… Christine inspired it and that makes it… well… sacred. Not for the rest of the world.

So there I was, doing construction work in the music building in the middle of the night (for the record, I normally would take umbrage the very suggestion of cutting open the belly of a piano… but these were desperate times), when I suddenly remembered that I never told Christine when to return.

Actually, I never told her a lot of things. Not my name… not my purpose… for all she knew I was just a voice in the wall! No wonder she had seemed so confused! I was so eager for her to start singing that I forgot the poor child didn't know the slightest thing about me.

Still, the worst by far was the fact that I hadn't given her a time to return to me.

An oversight that must be rectified immediately.

It was good I had mostly finished what I was doing. If not, it is very likely I would have just left a mess of wires hanging out of the wall ready to electrocute some unlucky pianist just looking for a quiet place to practice. And I'd hate to have to explain _that _to the managers.

As it was, I could barely concentrate enough to put the floor boards back into place before going on my next mission

--

I had determined that the best course of action would be to leave her a note. I like leaving notes.

Something simple, I decided… something that told her how sorry I was for upsetting her and to meet me again for our next lesson.

_Miss Daae,_

_I extend to you my profoundest apologizes for my behavior_ _earlier. I do, indeed, have high hopes for our time together this term. You have already shown a great deal of potential. I would like to see you again Friday after classes. We will rehearse in the same room as before. Please be prompt. I do look forward to working with you. _

It being late in the night, I thought it best to deliver it directly to the dormitory where I was sure she would see it in the morning.

As I mentioned earlier, I am familiar with the woman in charge of Christine's hall and I thought to deliver the letter to her office. She would ensure Christine received it.

I don't know why I was surprised that Mrs. Giry wasn't in her office, it being after hours and all… but I was.

No matter… I have faced greater obstacles. I would just tack it to the inside of her door—that way she'd see it first thing in the morning.

I entered the room easily. I really needed to increase security in this area if the rest was as easy to circumnavigate as the main office—it was unacceptable that just any wicked person could just walk straight in. My Christine was in there, after all.

The way these dormitories are set up, the offices on each floor have two doors. The first one could be entered down the hallway from the elevator. The second leads straight to the floor's common room. That was door I wanted.

Imagine my surprise when I found it already cracked open! I didn't sense danger, but it disconcerted me a little. That's when I heard _her _laughing. I couldn't help myself—I peeked inside, wondering what on earth a bunch of teenage girls could be up to this time of night. Surely it was too early in the year for study sessions…

Ah-ha! Story time.

Mrs. Giry had all the girls sitting around a circle in their pajamas (I looked away when I realized _that_), telling each other stories. I guess that's how girls get to know each other. I'll never understand that.

I would have dropped off my note and left had it not been for what I heard next.

"Come on, Christine! It's your turn. You have to think of a story!"

She must have been in the far corner. I would have had to open the door wider to see her… and wouldn't that just be awkward to explain…

But, that didn't stop me from listening.

"Alright," she sighed as if debating whether she should speak or not.

"Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing…"

She continued to weave one of the most unique stories I had ever heard. There was a girl and an Angel of Music… and…

Well, suffice it to say it was a beautiful story.

"Where'd you get that story, Christine?" one of the girls asked.

I leaned in, curious as well. For a time, though, there was only silence.

"Well? Come on, Christine, don't leave us hanging!"

"My father…" she whispered. "Excuse me… I have to go."

There was so much pain in her voice then… I felt a tightness from somewhere deep inside me.

For the first time in my life, I wanted to comfort someone. And I couldn't. How utterly frustrating. Perplexed and perturbed, I quickly exited the dormitory. There had to be some way I could help her…

I was so deep in thought that it wasn't until I was back at home, in the early hours of the morning that the thought occurred to me…

_I didn't sign the stupid note!_


	6. Chapter 6

I still can't believe I forgot to sign the letter.

Not only had I neglected to identify myself during our first meeting, but I had forgotten to do so in my note to her! You know, sometimes I get so caught up in being a genius that I forget to stop being a complete idiot.

I think that, if I were Christine, I would have completely avoided Practice Room 5 after _that_ bit of nonsense. That she would obey the wishes of a temperamental, overly demanding mystery man is beyond me.

Still, I am glad she did return. I don't think I could have handled it if she didn't. I wonder what curious thoughts were going through her mind as she waited for Friday afternoon to come.

As for me, Friday could not come quickly enough. The whole while, I berated myself for not asking her to come sooner. I had only wanted to give her time to settle into her new routine before I threw all my own expectations at her. That is the _only_ reason I held myself back from my desire to find her and move the meeting up a few days.

It did give me more time to plan, though.

How did one go about bestowing emotion on to another? Obviously there is no direct way about it.

What Christine needed was a depth to her singing that can only be cultivated by relationships. I couldn't very well walk up to her and say, 'I know I am a complete stranger... but give me a piece of your soul'... thought that is what I wanted to do.

No, if I were to make any progress, I would need to start slow. We would begin these lessons just like any other. Breathing, tone, tempos, words... I know I said earlier that her technique was excellent. How does one improve perfection, one might ask. Easily... you just do. It would be disastrous to tell a student to stop improving--no matter how good they are. It would ruin them.

But a good critic can find a shred of good in the worst of specimens... likewise can he find in the very best, something to improve upon.

As it would turn out, though, Friday's lesson was no where near what I had expected. Christine has this way of changing my expectations without any warning. It's as if I give the girl a target and, instead of hitting the bull's-eye, she picks up the target and moves it across the street.

For one thing, Christine had been in a bit of a daze since the night she mentioned the Angel of Music—a thought that had not escaped me, though not always in the forefront of my consciousness. I worried about her, yes... but more-so I worried about how this would affect her singing. Only time would tell, I supposed.

I was simultaneously warming up and testing out my new invention when Christine entered the room.

Blast. I needed to keep better track of the time.

It had been my intent to first greet Christine and introduce myself and then explain the workings of my special keyboard. I hadn't quite worked out what to tell her about why I would not allow her to see me... but I figured that would come in time.

As it was, though, I think I startled her very much. She entered the room, expecting to finally meet her instructor, only to find a piano that seemed to be playing itself.

By the look on her face, I wondered if she might flee the room... and where would that have left me?

"Do not be afraid, Christine," I said in my most soothing tone.

She stopped.

"What is this?" she asked warily.

"It is nothing to be afraid of... I just wanted to play for you while you sing today."

She nodded. I was on the edge of my seat, wondering if she would stay. My only thoughts were of keeping her in that room with me.

And so we sang.

"Start with your scales, please." I said, giving her mind something to occupy itself.

Christine was always an obedient child... even more so back then. She was one of those mild-mannered children who had been trained at a young age to obey adults and authority figures. As uncomfortable as she was, it's hard to shake habit.

Anyway... the more she sang, the more relaxed her stance became. As we grew a little more comfortable with each other, I began giving her little bits of advice—nothing too serious... just a little to start out with.

"A little clearer, Christine."

"Don't push so hard."

"Careful not to rush."

After some basic scales and exercises, I asked her to sing one of the pieces I had laid out for her. It was relatively simple since I didn't want to push her voice until she was a bit older... it was an arrangement of a little folk tune, written for soprano. A pretty little song I thought we'd both enjoy.

I certainly never expected it to make her cry!

"Christine, Christine! What is the matter?"

She shrugged in that way children shrug when they don't want to share their feelings. Embarrassed, she angrily wiped her eyes and tried to pretend she wasn't upset. It was adorable.

From what I had seen of her thus far, I noticed that the one thing she cried over the most was her late father.

I took and educated guess. "You miss him, don't you?" I asked gently.

She nodded pitifully. She didn't even ask who I was referring to or how I knew him.

"He used to sing this song to you?" Again she nodded.

"Yes," she answered after a time, "when I was little. When I got older, we used to sing it together. I'm terribly sorry, you must think me so stupid..."

"Never." I said emphatically. I meant it.

We were both silent for a few minutes. Finally I asked what I truly wanted to know.

"Tell me about him, Christine."

Why such a private person would open up to me, I do not know. I suspect it was because she couldn't see me. I wasn't... real... to her yet.

"He was my whole world," she sighed, covering her tear-stained face. "He... he used to tell me these stories..."

"About the Angel of Music?" I asked, wondering what it meant to her.

"How did you know?"

Now, I couldn't very well admit to spying on her and her friends. No good could come from that. So I did what I do best... I didn't answer.

"I just know."

"He... he said they were real, you know... the stories. I almost believed him too. I wanted to believe him... so badly. Especially in the hospital, the day he died... he told it to me again... told me to be brave and to keep singing. He promised when he went to Heaven he'd send the Angel to come look after me."

Now how do you answer a thing like that?

"Silly, huh?" she asked, laughing at her foolishness.

"Not at all!" I insisted. Well, maybe it was a little silly... if you're trying to be realistic. But I know more than anyone how you can believe anything if you want to enough.

I wanted to help more than anything.

"Christine... what if you knew those weren't just stories. If your angel came to you for real... would you recognize him?"

If I didn't come right out and say it, it wouldn't be lying, right? Let her come to her own conclusions. I watched as her brain started to make connections: the invisible instructor... the voice that no one has heard but her... the piano that plays by itself... the one she just met but who already knows so much about her...

"It's you, isn't it?" she whispered. If it was anyone else, they would not have heard it. But I heard it as if she had shouted it.

I still wasn't ready to lie directly, so I started to sing.

Almost immediately, I heard the distortion the microphone added to the sound... so I switched it off and threw my voice. Ventriloquism was one of those unordinary skills that has come in handy for me on many occasions.

I made my voice move about the room, surrounding her until she had to sit down. I wasn't thinking about it then, but I suppose that did a lot to confirm my angel persona in her eyes.

I continued singing until she nodded off in her chair. I probably shouldn't have done that because I hadn't the foggiest idea what to do next.

Today I would have just taken her in my arms and carried her back to her room. Back then... I don't know... I was just uncomfortable with it. Maybe it had to do with the fact that I had just deceived her... that I had used her father's cherished fairy-tales for my own gain.

No... it was not for my own gain. I need to stop believing that. I never wanted to be an angel... I did it for her.

All for her.

One thing was certain: I couldn't just leave her there. What if she awoke and called for me? What if someone came in and saw her so vulnerable? I couldn't allow it. Somehow, when she named me Angel, she gave me her permission to do what I had made my business to do all along--to sculpt and protect her.

Quiet as can be, I crept into the room with her. I opened her backpack, looking for a coat. I found it easily—she was always so well prepared—and tucked it around her.

What happened next... well, it's a little odd... but if I am going to tell this story, I'd best not leave it out.

When I pulled the jacket out, a little square of paper came with it. I flipped it over—a school picture. It was one of those small ones girls keep in their backpacks and trade with friends. I assume it was left over from her previous school.

Anyway, I took it. I put it in my shirt pocket to add to my collection at home—you know the one with the thank-you letter and the ladybug card. Then I returned to the other side of the mirror and, like a good angel, I watched her sleep. I would guard my charge until she awoke and then see her back home safely.

_Sleep, sweet Christine. No harm will come while I am watching over you._


	7. Chapter 7

I won't describe to you every last encounter, every lesson, every shared conversation I had with Christine. If I did, you would fall in love with her as I have, and I cannot allow that. Forgive me then, as I skip ahead a bit.

I enjoyed playing angel to Christine. Along with the title came a certain amount of trust that I craved.

It all goes back to my original plan, you see. Christine's music was lifeless just as she was. I could not help the music unless I helped her, and I could not help her unless I knew her, and I could not know her unless she trusted me.

Do you see my logic?

Well, all that matters is that it made sense to me at the time.

It's not as if she broke down and poured her heart out to me… not like she did that first time. But she did relax around me quite a bit.

I suspect it's something like when you see a monster in your room, but you turn on the light and find out it was only a coat rack… the next time you turn out the light, it's not so frightening anymore… because you have a new understanding of what you are looking at.

It was kind of the same thing with Christine and me. The voice, the invisible pianist… it all made sense to her now that she put it in the context of the Angel of Music stories.

Before we go on, I think I need to take a moment and defend Christine a little.

By the way I am painting this story, one might wonder how a girl like Christine could believe such fantastical tale. To a rational mind… the kind that cares if everything adds up… Christine's acceptance could be chalked up to her age. Children are so ready to believe anything… especially if it helps put order into a turbulent life.

Christine was—is—very naïve, but she is not stupid. The fact that she practically jumped to believe me an angel just shows how desperately she needed a lifeline at the time. The fact that she bought into the lie and embedded it so deeply just shows how desperately she needed some consistency.

I suppose the next question would be, 'Then why did she not begin to question it as she grew older?'

Let me try to explain this… it's like… have you ever believed something out of habit? No one ever bothered to warn me about anything as a boy, so I'll have to use someone else for a proper example.

My assistant, Jules—remember him?—never drinks. Not even a glass of wine on a special evening. I asked him about it once… he said that, as a child, his mother and father had told him that even a sip of alcohol would make him violently ill. And so he went about life, avoiding alcohol completely. It's not that he wasn't smart enough to logically see the context of what his parents had said then… they just wanted to keep their young child out of the alcohol cabinet… but he just never gave it any thought. Rationally, he knew it wouldn't kill him… but the lie was so ingrained in the back of his mind that he never bothered to try.

I hope that helps. I may have just succeeded in making things more confusing. Sorry about that. All I am trying to say is that Christine believed in me because it was easy to do so. By the time she was old enough to wonder what I was about, she had called me 'Angel' for so long that it simply felt natural to continue.

Maybe that was why she was so devastated when…

Well… that's much later…

Anyway… what was I talking about? I hope these detours aren't terribly distracting. But as I was saying…

Christine is an extremely private girl, but as she relaxed around me, I began to gather information about her, bit by bit.

Most of it was small—those insignificant things that do not define Christine but make her all the more endearing.

Like how her favorite color is green...

Or how she hates getting flowers (I tucked that one away for later)…

Or how, when given a choice of all the foods in the world, she'd much rather have a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup…

Or how she could pick a lock before she could read because her father lost his keys so often...

Little things, like that. It was not the information I was looking for… but it made me happy, so I didn't mind. I am a patient man.

I am also the sort of man who picks up on other details. I have spent a good deal of time… well, I guess you might call it people watching… where you study people, learn their habits. I usually know when someone is lying or when they're more afraid than they're trying to look. That sort of thing.

All it meant, in this case, was that I perceived the things that Christine was not telling me.

Her clothes never fit quite right, for one thing. And I noticed, after two or three lessons, that everything she ever wore looked about the same. After a bit of research on my part, I discovered that the girl only had two sets of casual clothes and a hand-me-down school uniform to her name. When that secretary said she had been left with nothing… I had no idea she'd meant it so literally!

Helping Christine was never easy. I tried time and time again to use my 'angel' status to sway her… convince her to let me take care of her. From the beginning, it has always infuriated me that Christine just couldn't see how much she needed me. No one could protect her, no one could provide for her, no one could mold her and teach her and sharpen her like I could. Why could she not see that?

And so I had to be surreptitious about it.

There was another time, for example, before I learned how difficult she could be, when she actually became _angry _with me for trying to make her happy.

She plays the trombone… have I neglected to mention that? My apologies… I am not accustomed to having to explain myself to anyone. Anyway, she played the trombone in the band at her public school.

This is a very elite music school with very high standards; someone who 'plays for fun', as Christine put it, could never hope to pass the auditions into Concert Band. Still, that didn't stop Christine from trying.

I just… I couldn't bear to see her disappointed. A note was left on the director's desk indicating in no uncertain terms that, should he like to renew his contract, he would admit Christine into his ensemble.

"How was band, Christine?" I asked after her first rehearsal. She should have been all smiles and gratitude. Instead she scowled and flushed, sitting down in the chair with a hard thud.

"Mr. Zimmerman glared at me the whole time. Kept mumbling something about blackmail and made it very clear that he didn't want me there."

I was enraged at the nerve of the man, upsetting Christine like that. "I'll take care of that, Christine. He shall not bother you again."

"_You_?" She cried, clearly agitated about something, "Is this _your _doing? Did you make him put me in the band?"

"I thought that was what you wanted."

"I never wanted anyone to—You never even _asked _me what wanted!"

Now I was getting frustrated. Didn't she realize that I did it all for her? "If you didn't want to be in band, why did you audition?"

"I… I never expected to get in… I just… I didn't want to regret not trying. But you… you ruined it!" She was near screaming at this point, circling the room with her arms gesturing dramatically. I suppose it is disconcerting to be angry and not know which direction to fix your glare.

I didn't answer. I didn't know what to say. How could I have expected my gift to be so violently rejected? I am not sure if anger or shock won out then.

My silence must have been alarming for her because after a few tense moments, she fell to her knees crying for my forgiveness and begging me not to leave her. As if I would abandon her for such a silly thing anyway…

Eventually I forgave her. It was clear she knew she was being irrational and had learned her lesson. And I could never stay angry with her for long.

A day or two later, the world was set back to rights and we continued on as always. She never played again though, which I never understood. I suppose it doesn't really matter; her future is in her voice.

The point is I learned that, if I wanted to spare Christine the embarrassment of making me angry with her absurd accusations, I would need to be more discreet. Eventually she would learn to appreciate all the things I do for her. And then it would not have to be a secret.

A few short calls just after our lesson ensured that a box containing several new uniform sets would be delivered to her doorstep by the time she reached her room. On it she would find a note from Mrs. Valerius wishing her luck with her exams.

I had been sending Mrs. Valerius money for some time and Christine was used to getting little gifts in the mail on occasion.

She'd never suspect.


	8. Chapter 8

I cannot pinpoint the exact moment I realized I was in love with Christine. I can tell you, though, when she was transformed in my mind from _my_ _student_ to _my Christine. _

I have always treasured her, taken care of her, protected her. But it was more like the way I cared for my violin. She was an instrument to me… a vessel through which I played my music.

Oh and the music we made!

But that all changed. It was during the Christmas holidays when she was sixteen.

Actually, I think I need to go back a bit first.

School holidays were an irritation in the beginning (in the _beginning_… they became a torment later on) because it meant Christine would be away for long periods of time. I could not understand it, but she _liked _staying in that overcrowded house where she is ignored and her music is not appreciated. Christine likes being invisible… but I'll get to that another time.

As each break approached, I tried to convince her to stay. I made subtle suggestions that grew into pleas that grew into threats. When she was older, I had the school make her summer job offers so she'd have a reason not to leave.

Nevertheless, she did leave again and again.

Except once.

One afternoon—I believe it was in early November—she came to her lesson in tears.

"What is the matter, Christine?"

She just sobbed harder. If I were a man, I would hold her. But I was just an angel. Maybe I should sing. Could I calm her down without putting her to sleep?

Luckily, as I pondered this she composed herself enough to choke out a few words.

"He's dead…" she hiccupped.

Naturally, this concerned me. I knew she wasn't over her father's death… not by far… but I hadn't seen her so hysterical over it in years.

It took an unreasonable amount of time to work through the tears enough to figure out what was going on. Rather than recount the entire conversation, allow me to sum it up.

Mrs. Valerius is Christine's foster mother (which has already been explained). They live about two hours north of here and have six children including Christine—two of their own and as many as four foster children at any one time. The husband, if I remember correctly, was a professor at the nearby community college. Anthropology or some other thing…

Anyway, it was his death that Christine was so upset about that day. Car accident. Killed on impact.

Normally the notion of one less human being on the planet was nothing for me to lose sleep over. But Christine was upset about it and that alone made it matter to me. What concerned me even more was the uncertainty of what would happen to Christine. I don't think she realized anything beyond her grief (teenagers are so shortsighted) but this could have some very serious ramifications to her future.

No one would question it if Mrs. Valerius decided she couldn't keep foster children anymore or at least needed to take a break to grieve. What would happen then? What if Christine was transferred to another home… one who was not so supportive of her studies here?

They would try to take Christine away from me.

That was unacceptable. No one would take Christine from me. I would die… but not before they did.

Imagine my relief, then, to find out that Mrs. Valerius did not try to have Christine transferred. Apparently she had the same sort of thought process as I did (well… maybe not _exactly _the same). The other foster children found new homes but she chose to keep Christine in school—realizing what life-altering opportunity she had here and deciding that keeping her wouldn't be much of a burden since she was living away at school most of the year.

I think Mrs. Valerius is a good woman. Just a little overwhelmed.

The one thing she did ask, however, was that Christine be kept at school for the Winter Break… to give her some time alone with her family during the holidays.

I was elated. But it had to be a secret joy, since the prospect bothered her so.

Now… back to my story.

Christine was at school over Christmas while most of her fellow students had gone home. In fact, I think Mrs. Giry and her daughter were the only ones left in Christine's dormitory… and that was only because Mrs. Giry was on staff. Imagine my glee at discovering that I would have Christine all to myself for two weeks.

I arranged it so that Christine would have a lesson with me every night, which she agreed to eagerly because it gave her something to do while she was alone.

However, three days before Christmas, Christine missed a lesson.

She'd never missed a lesson before and I was furious. I racked my brain, trying to think of anything I could have done to have upset her. Her emotions were so unpredictable back then.

But there was nothing… yesterday's rehearsal had been fabulous. She had laughed and smiled and seemed to forget her depression for a while.

I remember the way she used to look at the piano… as if I was actually sitting there playing for her. In her mind, I believe she thought that was where I was located… sometimes I thought that she had actually convinced herself that she could see me.

My darling girl. She wanted so badly for it all to be true.

After some thought, I realized that there was no reason for me to expect her to skip a lesson. If she wasn't avoiding me…

I felt that same tightness in my chest when I realized that she could be hurt.

She wasn't hurt… just very, very sick. My sweet girl had appendicitis late in the night and Mrs. Giry had taken her to the hospital. The appendix hadn't burst—thank Heavens!—but it had been very close and Christine had had a difficult time in surgery (a reaction to the anesthesia… I made a mental note to learn the more specific details later).

When I saw her there… lying in a hospital bed… I wanted to hurt someone, make someone pay for the fact that she'd had to go through that. But sometimes… sometimes there is just no one to blame. It was a helpless feeling, let me assure you.

I knew no doctors or nurses would be coming to check on her any time soon. Someone who looks like me cannot simply walk into the hospital and demand to see a patient… it just… well it just doesn't work. So I hacked into the computer system and created enough false emergencies and computer bugs to keep the night-shift busy for a while.

I wasn't worried. I could take care of Christine as well as any doctor could.

I was at her side in an instant when I heard her moan. She was still pretty medicated, but sleeping. Suddenly her head started to thrash… a bad dream, maybe? She moaned again.

"Dad… please… daddy, don't go…" she whimpered.

I held one of her hands in mine and she settled slightly. Did she squeeze my hand back… or was that in my imagination?

After a time I climbed into bed with her—mindful of her right side—and let her lean her head awkwardly against my chest.

She breathed slowly and deeply, as if she were taking in my scent, and smiled slightly.

I… I don't know why… I couldn't stop myself… but I moved my free hand around and buried it in her hair so that I was cuddling her to me as tightly as I could without hurting her. If I closed my eyes, I could swear I felt her nuzzle my palm.

I didn't sing. I didn't need to. I just held her in silence as she slept.

The next night was the same… and the day just before they released her. I'd sneak into the hospital and just… be with her. My mind… it was blank… no inspirations, no planning, no desire to rush to the piano… my only thought were of Christine. Could it be? Could it be that I cared about _her _more than music? There was much I had to think about.

She had a quick recovery, all things considered, which made me glad. Still… it didn't change the new outlook I had about her. I spent hours in front of the fire, fingering the identification bracelet I had taken from her at the hospital, deep in thought.

What would it feel like—I wondered—when my heart was broken? Would it hurt?

I had no way to know.

I'd never had a heart before.


	9. Chapter 9

My attitude towards Christine changed after her illness. It became more personal… more desperate. I may be a patient man, but my longing to understand her became more persistent.

Before, I was content to wait for her to slowly open up to me, absorbing the little details of her life as she released them bit by bit. But now I felt pressed to take a more… active… role in learning about her. And not just those little things either… I needed more than that. I needed to understand what made Christine Daae tick. Why she smiled and why she cried… the kind of things that went through her mind when she thought she was alone.

I needed to know _everything_.

It is amazing how much someone can accomplish with enough money and the right type of influence. Over the course of the next year I had gathered more information on Christine than she probably had on herself. I had copies of birth and baptism certificates… report cards and teacher's comments from preschool forward. If it had been recorded, I had a copy. I even managed to find the notes written by the various counselors Christine had seen after her father's death. I poured over every last detail, filing each bit of relevant information away in my mind in case I needed it later, the rest going into a locked cabinet in my office.

And still it was not enough. My work rebuilding the school had finished long ago and I no longer had the influence I once had… but I was still able to bribe the head of security and get access to the security cameras. They fed into my computer at home so that I would feel close to Christine even when I was away from her.

I can't describe to you the hunger I felt then. Not any physical pangs… nor the compulsion to _possess_, which came gradually. Right then I felt nothing but the overwhelming urgency to… _know._ My soul had been overcome and my mind ached to know more about this girl and how she had come to possess me so.

My desire to perfect Christine's voice returned with renewed fervor and each lesson became longer and more intense than the last. I knew now that, somewhere underneath the muck and depression, there was a passionate girl just waiting to break free. My original desire had only been based on a half-truth… I didn't need to teach Christine… just help her remember… just teach her how to quit hiding behind her protective walls and let her emotions out through music.

Outside of our lessons, the first five years of Christine's schooling had been overall unremarkable. She had made a good little chorus member and dutifully stood in the background of the dozens of musicals and operas the school performed over the years. If she was not a chorus member, she was a peasant or a townsperson… but, no matter how faithfully she rehearsed and sung her part, she was never promoted further than that. She was never called out for being off pitch or behind the beat… but she never received a word of praise, either.

Christine was content with this. I was not. She never wanted to stand out… never wanted to be vulnerable to so many people. But I knew she was destined for more.

During her senior year, I decided that the time had come for me to show Christine to the world. Oh, and I knew just the time to do it, too!

Just before Christmas, the school held a gala to attract donors. The festivities always included a concert showing off the best the school had to offer and was finished with one or two numbers from some big-name performer. In this instance, the school was proud to announce they had secured the talent of the opera-star _La Carlotta_ for this year's performance. Of course, the horrid woman was only too glad to accept an invitation to perform for her Alma Mater… no doubt considering the fact that it meant her rubbing elbows with some of the wealthiest and most influential men around.

But I had different ideas.

It was my intention that the artistic screeching of _La Carlotta _be replaced with the angelic Christine Daae. I made the suggestion. It irritated me that they didn't even know who I was talking about.

Now, you have to understand that this would have gone much smoother had the managers simply listened to my counsel. After all, I did take this institution from death's door and make it thrive again. How quickly people tend to forget these things! I had to remind them that they should still heed my advice if they wished to remain afloat.

Some people are slower than others, I suppose.

Meanwhile, I worked Christine harder than ever. I rejoiced that she was finally flourishing under my direction. There is something about exhaustion that extracts the hidden strength in a person… like when you put slow heat to a recipe to bring out the flavor. Christine couldn't hold those walls up forever… and I knew there was something beyond there just trying to break free. And so we pressed on. I pushed her to the point of breaking and then forced her to stretch further. These long days, the more she sang, the more emotional she became. Sometimes she cried… sometimes her faced flushed with anger… sometimes her fingers dug so hard into the music that she left tears in the paper.

But that was only while we sang. When the music ended, she breathed deeply and wiped back her tears. I think part of her may have resented me then… but she would never dare raise her voice to her angel.

--

The manager in charge of Institutional Advancement was more trouble than he was worth. The fact that I had to deal with him and the self-absorbed peacock of an event director was more of an ordeal than I wanted to waste my time on. They were less than enthused by the idea of replacing their star act with a chorus girl whose name they could barely remember.

I suppose that, if I were to put myself in their place, I would see their reservations. But I did not get where I am today by walking miles in other people's shoes. My Christine was going to sing in _La Carlotta's_ place and that was that.

This would be everyone's best interest. That's not a threat, by the way. I meant it exactly how I said it… Christine would make her debut, the school would make money, the directors would look good to their superiors, and I would be spared the discomfort of cutting my ears off after that 'opera' singer's public defilement of Mozart and Offenbach.

And _La Carlotta_… well… I'd say she'd be spared the embarrassment but it's obvious the woman is either lacking in shame or hearing… maybe both. So, I suppose she would be spared the embarrassment that she _should _be feeling every time she opens her mouth.

You see? Everybody wins.

But since the managers insisted on being uncooperative, I'd have to take this up with the squalling cow herself.

Carlotta arrived at about the same time the donors were beginning to check in… which meant I only had a two-day window with which to sort this little discrepancy out. It also required cancelling one of Christine's lessons, which irked me.

I stepped into an empty classroom and flipped off the lights. I don't like lights. I waited a few moments and, when she passed by, I pulled her in and shut the door.

Immediately she began to screech—not the singing kind… the terrified kind—and I had to put my hand over that offensive mouth to keep her quiet. Thankfully I was wearing gloves at the time.

"Shh, shh… there's no need to scream, madam. I merely wanted to have a conversation with you."

"What do you want?" she rasped as I slowly uncovered her mouth.

"I wanted to let you know that it would be in your best interest to cancel this little engagement of yours."

"Are you threatening me?" she hissed.

Why does everyone always think I'm threatening them?

"Not at all. I am just giving you a bit of friendly advice. It would be a poor decision on your part if you insist on singing Saturday night."

I pushed her out of the room into the hallway and shut the door. She opened it back up and turned on the light only to find the classroom empty.

I was particularly proud of that little maneuver.

--

Rather pleased with myself for my adept handling of a difficult situation, I made my way home to treat myself to a brandy and relax in my study.

I have to admit, though… as satisfied as I was, I still missed my Christine. I didn't realize how much our skipped lesson would affect me. Briefly I wondered if she enjoyed my company as much as I enjoyed hers. _What I wouldn't give to have her here with me right now,_ I thought with a sigh. Oh how happy we would be!

Needing to be near her, I turned on the screen monitoring the security cameras and scanned for her image.

Ah. There she was. I smiled… she was so lovely. I watched her meander about the common room of her dormitory as I went to the bar to pour my drink. The glass dropped to the floor, however, when I detected another form crossing the screen. I didn't bother to pick it up… instead I rushed to the monitor to get a closer look at the person I did not recognize.

_Who is that boy? _ I wondered.


	10. Chapter 10

I wish I could skip over this part of the story. It makes me remember things that hurt.

And yet, it serves to explain my actions a little more. So I'm afraid I must press on…

I continued to watch Christine and this unknown gentleman in the monitor for a while. The easy way in which she interacted with him—the casual touches, the smiles, the occasional blush—disturbed me. I know my Christine… a shy girl like that could never be so comfortable around someone she'd just met. I knew he wasn't a student, as I tended to keep close watch on any male who interacted with her on more than a passing basis.

One of Mrs. Valerius' children, perhaps? No, that too was impossible. Every holiday and summer vacation, I followed Christine home. Just to see that she go there safely, mind you! During the longer breaks I'd even return once or twice to check on her. That's what a good angel does, right? Anyway, I memorized the faces of all the inhabitants of that house, including the revolving door of foster children.

I had definitely not seen this boy before.

I was not quite bold enough to approach Christine outside of our practice room… at least with her being aware of it… so I determined that I'd have to wait until tomorrow to find out what had gone on there.

I'll admit it. I was angry. I stayed awake through the night, punishing my piano for the betrayal of my Christine. I burned the compositions I wrote that night… they were too dark for even my own ears.

By the next morning I was angrier and more depressed than ever. Therefore it comes as no surprise that I wanted to strangle something when I saw a glowing Christine practically skipping through the doorway.

"Who is he?" I asked, trying to taper some of my rage so not to frighten her.

Christine didn't even question how I knew. "His name is Raoul," she sighed dreamily. I wanted to retch. "I met him long ago, before Dad died. Dad and I took a vacation to the beach… the same beach that Raoul and his family spend every summer. We were just kids then… but we were fast friends."

She honestly had no idea.

"And now?" I asked, hesitantly.

"Now? Oh, he is here with his brother for the gala. Isn't it wonderful? I never thought I'd see him again…"

"Enough, Christine. I have warned you about this… have you forgotten so quickly? Your attention belongs to music alone." _to me alone _"You must not waste your talent with petty dalliances with boys who care nothing for your music. I shall tell you one last time… unless you devote yourself to our work here, your angel will leave you and never return. Is that what you want?"

In reality I had given her no prior warning. I had never as much as mentioned boys to her. I… well… until then I hadn't thought it necessary. Christine usually kept to herself so I never worried about any possible attractions on her part. And so, we had indeed not spoken on the subject, though I insisted I had issued her the warning. It is possible Christine knew this to… but, dear timid girl, she would never go against her angel.

"I'm sorry, Angel," she murmured, "I… I thought you'd be happy for me."

Happy? She thought I'd be _happy_? Didn't she realize that every smile spared on that _boy_ was another dagger in my heart?

That's just it, isn't it? She really didn't know. I thought… I wanted so badly to believe she might feel the same way about me that I do about her…

But how could she? She had never really met me! To her, I was just this invisible voice… an angel who soothes her with his singing and motivates her with his words. Not flesh and blood… not _real_.

Slowly and without my knowledge, wheels began to turn in the back of my mind… secretly forming an idea that would not be made known to me… just yet.

Suddenly I felt very weary. "Christine, are you serious about your music?"

"Of course, Angel!"

"Do not see that boy again, Christine. Devote yourself to me and to music and you will go far."

Her voice sounded so broken… if I wasn't so angry with her I might have felt some pity. "Yes, Angel."

"That's a good girl. Shall we sing our scales?"

----------

In the end,Carlotta did insist on singing. It was an unfortunate act of stubbornness on her part. All I can say is that food-poisoning can be very nasty business. Poor woman.

"What do you mean '_la Carlotta _cannot attend the dress rehearsal'? This is our once chance to do a complete run-through of the program!"

I watched from above the stage, getting a certain bit of amusement out of the way the event director tore at his hair like a lunatic.

"I don't have time for this!" he shouted, "Will she be at the performance, at least?"

_Not if I have anything to say about it._

"She doesn't know, sir. Can't we just put on another act instead? I'm sure there's another singer out there with a song prepared…"

"You idiot! There is no other act… and it's too late to change songs… I've already given the music to the orchestra!"

Little Giry—Meg, I think—scampered over to the director. She had an impish sort of grin on her face.

"What are you doing here Miss Giry? I thought the dance instructor had you girls warming up someplace?"

"Yes, sir. I just wanted you to know that my roommate, Christine Daae, knows the songs Carlotta was scheduled for. She's been studying with this special teacher. You could always have her stand in… just for the rehearsal, and all. That couldn't hurt."

_Well done little Giry. You've played your part well. I suppose I owe you that fifty dollars now…_

----------

I like to think I noticed that Christine was beautiful before anyone else did. And I don't mean inner beauty either… though she has that. I mean the way a man is supposed to find a woman beautiful.

And who better to notice but I? I watched her grow up, after all. I watched her sprout up from a stocky thirteen-year-old to a tall and attractive young woman. It was a beautiful process to behold… her breasts began to form, her acne came and went, her hips and thighs softened and her face took on a sophisticated look without loosing those curious, wide eyes. I watched through all the experimenting with hairstyles and products until she finally managed to tame that frizzy mane of hers into something soft and alluring. I had been their through all the awkwardness and clumsiness, the drastic leaps and the small triumphs.

So, yes, I can comfortably say that I noticed Christine's beauty before the rest of the world.

And yet… it had always been in a distant sort of way. Abstract, you know? As if I were looking at a beautiful painting or sculpture.

I was, therefore, completely unprepared for the sight I beheld that night.

"I'm here, Angel. Will you help me warm up?"

I choked. I couldn't speak. Here she was, standing in the doorway, the most radiant thing I had ever seen. Her hair was done up with a million shiny pins… letting just a few pieces fall across her collarbone. She had on light make up and was wearing…

Oh Heavens! What she was wearing!

It was this silvery blue dress… the kind that caressed… the kind that let everyone in the room know how truly beautiful she had become…

"Angel?"

Oh. Right. She wanted me to answer. "Christine… you look…"

She spun around. "Do you like it?"

She was stunning.

I was… well… stunned.

That's about how it worked to… she took away my vocabulary so I had nothing to work with.

"Y-yes… I mean… you look very lovely tonight, Christine."

"Oh good. I am really nervous, Angel…"

Ah-ha. Now here was an area I could help with. "There's no reason for you to be. You will be magnificent. And I will be there with you."

----------

What happened at the actual gala was supremely inconvenient. _La Carlotta_, the little trooper, decided she was well enough to sing after all.

I saw my little crestfallen Christine speaking with the choral director, still in that gorgeous dress but with her choir uniform in hand.

"I can't sing with the choir either?"

"I'm terribly sorry for all of this, Miss Daae… I know it isn't your fault. But I have already changed the standing arrangement. We'll try to do better next year, okay?"

"But I'm a… senior…" she trailed off as the director moved on.

I was furious at a good many people just then.

"Christine, Christine…" I called out, throwing my voice to land beside her ear.

"I am so sorry, Angel!" Her lip quivered like she might break down at any moment. _Don't cry, Christine!_

"Sweet Christine… do not worry about tonight. Just go to your dressing room and prepare to sing. You know, _la Carlotta _was still pretty sick earlier. She might still cancel. Just be ready for anything, alright?"

She nodded. I think she was afraid I'd be angry at her.

I wasn't though. Even if I was… there was no time for it.

I had a career to ruin.

----------

"And now, what we've all been waiting for… the vocal talents of _la Carlotta!_ Carlotta is a graduate of ours from…"

The announcer continued to introduce the final act. That gave Carlotta just one more chance to change her mind and save her career. I whispered such into her ear, but she waved me off like a fly.

_Suit yourself. Don't say you weren't warned…_

The crowd was on their feet clapping before the stubborn bird ever sang a note. Well… I suppose that makes sense considering they wouldn't be clapping _after _she sang. Still, I couldn't help but feel that it was a little premature.

I allowed her to get a full minute into the first song—let her dig her own grave—before putting my own skills to work. This is another one of those times when ventriloquism is a helpful thing to know.

There was an orchestral interlude. Perfect. The moment she opened her mouth at her next entrance, all the audience heard was:

"CROAK!"

Only this time, the horrid sound was my doing.

She flushed and touched her throat in the way singer's do when they don't want to take the blame for their own mistakes. Like when an instrumentalist plays a wrong note and then visibly examines his instrument. That kind of thing.

Anyway, she pressed on. And so did I.

"CROAK!"

Again.

"CROAK!"

And again.

"CRRRRROAK!"

Until she finally took the hint and went running from the stage. _Certainly took her long enough! _I thought.

There was an awkward interlude during which the announcers made a bunch of apologies followed by some hushed backstage discussions that I feel are inconsequential to my story and, thus, will be left out.

The end result was that Christine was finally brought onto the stage to sing.

Oh and what singing it was!

It is hard to accurately describe it in words. She was everything I had worked so hard for… the emotion, the passion, the _life_ in her was so overwhelming that it would have brought angels themselves to their knees.

My Christine.

She sang with the type of passion that is impossible to invent. It had to be genuine. It was as if my sweet, shy girl was unburdening her entire heart right there on the stage. The audience was in tears.

I likely would have wept as well except I was distracted. As good as she was… something just didn't feel right. There was a strange quiver I heard in her voice… a wildness to her eyes. Everyone else might be fooled… but I wasn't. What was it—that strange emotion that she was trying to pass off as something else?

Was that… could that be… _fear_?

Something wasn't right.


	11. Chapter 11

She thought I already knew, and so she confessed everything.

The boy had come to her dressing room in search of her.

Curse you, Carlotta! If I hadn't been running around trying to set things right, I would have been there with Christine. That's where I should have been… at her side.

But, no, I was away and it was the boy who came to her instead.

According to Christine's version of the story, she told him to leave as soon as she realized who was at the door.

My mind… sometimes it argues with itself. Not like I am hearing voices… rather it's like the different parts of my brain are fighting with each other. If that makes any sense.

On the one hand, I want to believe her. Christine was—is—such a good girl. Besides that, she would've had no reason to lie since she thought I had seen the whole thing (I was an angel, remember… all-seeing and whatnot).

On the other hand, I wondered if it was not some sort of act on her part. I know I had forgiven her—she hardly knew any better after all—but my heart still stung from her betrayal last night.

The second part of what she said was implied. I told him to leave (_but he wouldn't_). She never said that part, obviously, for fear of what I might do to the boy. I don't know why she thought I'd hurt him… I never threatened anything of the sort!

Besides, I could hardly blame the boy. Christine was… glorious. And that dress! Egads! Frankly, I think any breathing male over the age of seven would be hard-pressed to leave her presence so easily.

But that didn't change the problem at hand. Actually… that made it worse.

The fact that Christine was afraid for the boy disturbed me. That told me he must mean something to her. The prospect made me feel like I had a rock in my stomach.

But then the anger came.

I think I like the anger sometimes… and the madness. It's familiar territory… like an old friend. I can deal with that so much easier than all these new feelings that had come upon me so suddenly.

Anyway, it settled over me like a blanket.

And why shouldn't it?

Christine was mine.

The possessiveness I felt then was overwhelming and unprecedented. She belonged to me. Why? Because she was _my _creation! The way she is… her music, her personality, her habits… that was all my doing! She was dead when I found her… and I brought her back to life. That makes her mine.

This is going to be difficult to believe, so you'll just have to trust me when I say that it's the truth… I think.

I believe I may have been content to be an angel—that I could teach Christine and continue to love her from afar—had it not been for Raoul de Chagny.

After all the years I invested into Christine, he comes along with a weeks worth of fond memories from the past and seeks to spirit Christine away.

The worst part was that it almost worked!

I seethed as I walked down the street towards my car.

For all intents and purposes, I suppose you could switch that boy's name with any other. Christine was perfect and she was mine. But there would forever be someone or something trying to take her away from me. They would introduce to her to all their outside ideas and… fears… and worries.

The world would ruin her.

I looked up. I was in an alleyway behind a restaurant—the kind actors work in between jobs—and saw a pretty young woman, about Christine's age, walking out with a burly man in a dirty apron.

Is this how Christine would end up? Without my influence… would she just be another out of work artist, trying to make it?

I surveyed the woman's appearance… her dress, her makeup, her hair. Perfect for your next pop-star teen idol… but my Christine was above such things. She shouldn't be held down by the standards of society.

"Thanks for walking me out to my car," the waitress said cheerily. The man waved as she got in and drove away.

Christine was above the fears of the world… she should not worry about finding someone to walk her to her car… she should not be afraid of muggers or carjackers or… anything at all.

And who would protect her if not for me?

Could Raoul de Chagny shield her from all the darkness of the world? Christine Daae does not deserve fear and worry and struggle. She deserves only happiness and love and music. Could _he_ shelter her and nurture her and help her grow?

No. But I could. I could give her the life she deserves. I alone knew how to treasure someone as sweet and fragile as Christine. I could make her thrive, I just knew it.

I spent a good portion of the night contemplating my newfound revelations. In the end, though, I was certain.

The only way to protect Christine from the world was to remove her from it.


	12. Chapter 12

When I finally came to the conclusion that had been building for some time now, I felt as if a huge burden had been taken off my shoulders. A sense of peace came over me and I slept well for the first time in years.

In the back of my mind, I'd had this nagging thought of what would happen when Christine graduated. I'd actively ignored it… but there was always that creeping doubt that our time together might someday come to an end.

Imagine my excitement, then, when I realized that this was really only the beginning of our lives together.

I would rescue her from the outside and bring her here to live with me. And it is here, under my capable hand, that she would truly grow and flourish. Our lessons, our talks… everything that has happened over the past six years was merely a prelude to what was to come.

And what was to come?

I am a solitary man by nature, so you can imagine how the idea of bringing the woman I love into my home was both exciting and nerve-wracking. Imagine! Having Christine here, under my very roof! I would no longer have to be an angel… I could be a man. And, as such, I would have to hide my love for her no longer.

Granted, I could not expect her to return my feelings… or could I? Surely she loves her angel. Was it too much to hope that she could grow to love me as a man? Probably. But, at the very least, she might gain some smidgen of affection for me.

At least until…

Yes, about that. How would I go about explaining my face to Christine? She'll want to see it of course—women are so curious like that—but that can only lead to disaster.

I guess I'd start by telling her not to touch the mask… well, that's a given. Then maybe I could tell her that it is very important to me that she obey me in this. Could that work? I don't ask for much…

Well, I'd have plenty of time to figure out the details.

And the coming months were _filled _with details. I set little goals for myself… like rewards and such… like if I spent the majority of the day working, I'd allow myself the evening to compose and daydream about her.

It was a labor of love, though, be assured of that. Every moment I spent preparing her room, adjusting the locks, purchasing clothes brought me one moment closer to Christine. Oh, how excited I was!

I didn't come to Christine anymore as an angel… not since the gala. It's not that I didn't want to… it's just that I had so much work to do now and much of it needed to be done during business hours. I hadn't thought about it at the time, but I think it really upset the poor girl. If I had known how devastated she'd be, I would not have left… but at the time I chalked up her depression to the fact that the boy went back home with his brother. And, to be honest, I knew I couldn't bear to see her shed tears for another man.

And so I pretended. I imagined she was my wife and I was away on a business trip… I imagined that she was going about her daily life all the while wishing and wondering when I was going to come back and take her home.

Soon, darling. Soon.

I also kept closer watch on her during this time. This time when she left for Christmas, I not only followed her to the Valerius' home, but I stayed nearby for the duration of the holiday. I had to, you see. It didn't occur to me until then, but I had been severely lax in my duty to her protection. All these times she was away… anything could have happened to her! At least when she was on campus, I had the cameras to help me look after her. But here… well, I was surprised she hadn't already met her untimely end at the diabolical hands of some madman… or something. Like I said, she was virtually defenseless.

There was something oddly comfortable about watching her during these times. She was so at ease… so at home here in this bustling house full of children. I loved the way her eyes lit up while one of the little girls handed her a glittered Christmas card… and the way she squealed when a dirty-faced boy dropped a toad in her lap… and the way Mrs. Valerius kept touching her cheek and saying, 'My how you've changed, my quiet little Christine.' I always felt a little surge of triumph when she said that… the change in Christine was mine… my doing. The spark that had returned to her had come from me. It felt good, you know?

Sometimes I wonder if Christine ever felt my presence… even a hint that someone was following her. I'm certain I would have known had I been in her place. I may seem no more than a ghost at times but even I cannot be _completely _untraceable.

I remember one particular instance during that same holiday while Christine was at the Valerius'. She was sitting in the upstairs bedroom that she shared with two other girls. One of them, a pretty brunette of about fifteen or sixteen, was sitting on the bed behind Christine and brushing her hair.

"Oh your hair is so lovely, Christine," she sighed.

Christine snorted. "You say that now… don't you remember what it was like two years ago?"

The other girl laughed. "You brought it up, Christine, not me. I was just going to give you the compliment and let it go… but now that you mention it, yes I do remember that ghastly mop you used to call hair."

The two giggled until another voice rose above them. It was the youngest girl—a tiny thing, around six—who had thrown down her doll and was now looking excitedly out the window.

"Look, Christine! I see a kitty!"

Damn.

She meant me.

Have I mentioned that my eyes glow?

Christine came to the window frowning. I knew what she was thinking… that we were too high up and there weren't any trees near the window to climb in… that it couldn't be a cat the girl had seen, and yet wasn't so sure the child was telling stories either.

I was trembling now, vacillating between closing my eyes to extinguish the light and keeping them open to watch what she would do.

Is it simply observation, or is there something inherently built into the rabbit or the deer that makes her suspect when the wolf approaches?

She didn't spend much time at the window, only enough to take the little girl by the shoulders and guide her back inside.

"Come on, Wanda, let's shut this window. If you keep leaning out of it like that you'll either break your neck or catch cold and I don't want to explain either to Mama V."

The little girl looked out a bit forlornly. I wonder if she didn't have a cat of her own or something. Anyway, the brunette called to her while Christine was latching the window and the child scuttled happily over to the bed to have her hair braided.

For the sweetest of moments, Christine's eyes connected with my own. I imagined she was at the window looking for me, watching and waiting for me to return to her. I imagined she was a princess trapped in a tower, anxiously awaiting rescue. I imagined…

Oh, I imagined.

It's a funny thing, but even the barest of glances from her is still enough to inspire deliriums of happiness within me. I remained in my blissful fantasy long after she turned from the window, shuddering.


	13. Chapter 13

The final term of school came fast and hard for Christine. In addition to her final papers and exams, I think she was rather unprepared for the onslaught of attention brought about by her success at the gala. She began to close in on herself again.

I remember feeling a passing sympathy, knowing she'd be dealing much easier if she had her angel… but it could not be helped, I was working like a madman to prepare a place for her. Christine would just have to survive on her own for a few more months as I laid plans for her future. Soon she'd never feel alone again.

Our separation, though it took its toll on us both, I feel was for the best for a number of reasons.

One of those reasons that has just recently occurred to me is that, by then, I had surrounded myself with such elaborate fantasies—not unlike the time before her first singing lesson—that, if I had been in a position to speak with her, I fear I would have ruined the surprise.

Oh not on purpose, mind you… but at that point her new life was so close at hand and I was so excited for it, I imagine it could have very easily slipped out in conversation had I not removed the temptation.

But poor Christine! There were so many things I could have done that would have made her last semester a little easier on her. But I could not… I had to think of the grander picture.

As was customary with seniors, Christine applied to a large number of performing arts conservatories and universities. Truth be told, she could have gained admittance to any one of them. Those who had sent representatives to the gala in December would have been drooling over themselves at the prospect of getting their hands on the up and coming Christine Daae. As for the others… well, honestly I had enough of a reputation with those places that in seconds I could have Christine into the school of her choosing.

But that's just the thing… I did have the power and I used it. Naturally, it was confusing to some that a man of my position would intervene against a student whose name they had never heard… but in the end, it was just one less applicant for them to sort through and so they were grateful for my advice.

Surely it pained me to see that disheartened look on Christine's face each time the mail came. After the fourth or fifth rejection letter, she stopped bombarding the mail clerk like the rest of the girls did… she'd just wait until the room cleared and quietly ask if there were any letters for her.

Do not think me heartless! It hurt me beyond what I could ever express to have to do this to her. But I could not have her forever holding on to notions of 'what if'. I could not have her planning for a future other than the one I had in store for her. It would be cruel!

I was not completely deluded; I knew that her… confinement… would be difficult for her to accept at first. Of course she'd come to understand eventually… but it would only be that much more difficult for her if she thought I had pulled her away from some grand opportunity.

HA! As if there was something those schools could give her that I couldn't!

But… I knew it wouldn't look like that from her perspective.

Beyond that, though… I wanted… I wanted her to need me… to be forced to depend on me. Christine has always been so difficult to help… so slow to realize she needs it. I knew I was acting in Christine's best interest but… well… was it so wrong to wish that she would know it too?

Two months after Christmas she'd had her eighteenth birthday and aged out of the foster care system. Soon she would graduate… she had no money, no job offers, no place to go, no one to take care of her. I thought… I suppose I thought that if she had nowhere to turn but Erik, she might finally look to him for deliverance.

Please believe me… as convoluted as my methods seem, I beg you to recognize the purity of my motivation. There is nothing I would not do for her. I would have done anything to win her for myself. I am in love with her.

It's just that… I feel as if my mind is at odds with itself. Somewhere, deep down, the logical side of me demands to expect Christine's hostility. And yet, the governing part of me insists that Christine wants this… that she is in love with me and eagerly counting the moments, just as I am, until we can finally be together unhindered. I have spent so much time fluctuating between my fantasy and reality that I don't know which is which anymore.

It seemed then that I would be forever doomed to be taken surprise by her actions.

I still remember the sting and the shock of when she started contacting Raoul de Chagny again. I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was, all things considered, but I really had considered that relationship effectively nipped in the bud back in December.

Christine doesn't have a cell phone—she couldn't afford one on her own and Mrs. Valerius never did put her on their family plan—so that was one detail I didn't have to deal with. I had the phone lines in the dormitory tapped just in case, but I was not constantly monitoring them… that in and of itself would have taken up all my time and likely not called up anything useful as Christine rarely talks on the phone. She prefers letters and email. More communicative, she says. You can be more honest in writing. I think it's foolish… if something's written down, all it takes are a few clicks and I can call it up and read it.

But it is an easy oversight to forgive… she had no way of knowing there was someone out there who cared _immensely _about the things she put in print.

Anyway, that is why it took me a while to realize what she had been doing. She had called him several times from the privacy of her bedroom, where I had no cameras.

Actually, I can thank the little Giry girl once again for her assistance to my cause. Oh how mortified she would be if she truly knew what she had helped bring about. Fortunately, she never found out.

I was in the dormitory once again one evening. I like to leave little gifts for Christine. I used to send them through the mail or some other third party but recently… I don't know… I think delivering things myself just seemed more personal.

I never liked to consider myself a stalker. That was creepy… sinister even. I preferred to think myself a sort of combination between a secret admirer and a guardian angel—someone who adored and cared for Christine from afar until the beautiful moment when I could make myself known to her.

So anyway, there I was leaving a set of ladybug earrings (to be honest, I had no idea if she liked ladybugs or not. I just… well I guess _I_ liked them… it reminded me of when I first met her) in a box—labeled from Mrs. Dorothy J. Valerius, of course—when Meg Giry flitted (dancers are a funny lot. If I wasn't so sure she was a girl, I would swear she was a fairy or butterfly or something) into the common room.

"Christine Daae!" she sang (yeesh… thank the heavens she is not in the music program), "You have a call. I think it's that boy again."

Then she squealed. Girls.

Now you can imagine the unpleasant jolt this sent straight to my heart! Boy? What boy? Could it be that my Christine is seeing someone?

As furious as I was over her newly discovered infidelity, I forced myself to be calm. I needed to keep a cool head if I was to figure out what was going on—especially considering the fact that I was not currently at home with my… um… _observation _equipment.

Accessing her telephone conversation was disturbingly easy. I merely found the phone in Mrs. Giry's office and pressed the button for line three. I would never speak on a telephone again if I knew it could be tapped into so easily. Luckily mine cannot.

I missed the first few minutes of conversation but I gathered it was just the usual pleasantries. Hello, how are you, and whatnot.

"But I don't understand, Christine. You were amazing at the gala… you must have thousands of prospects open to you… you're about to graduate and you have your whole life ahead of you. You should be happy!"

"That's just the thing Raoul… nothing seems to be working out. I haven't been accepted to any of the colleges I've applied for and I'm running out of time. I really don't know what's going to happen when I graduate. So… yeah… I guess I'm just a little stressed out right now."

"Christine, you know I am always here for you. My offer still stands if you ever decide you want my help. You can always stay here at the house with us, or I can help get you an apartment of your own."

"Thanks, Raoul. I'm going to try to hold out a bit longer in case something comes up… but, I will keep your offer in mind. You are so good to me… and I don't even know why that is. I mean, we haven't spoken since we were kids and I see you again almost ten years later and it's like we were never apart. I didn't realize how much I missed you… I feel like I have my best friend back."

"I missed you too, Christine. And, I know we've always been friends and all… but… I've wanted to tell you something the last few months ever since the gala. I think I'm in—"

"Oh hey! Can I call you back? It's lights-out time."

"Oh. Right. Well… sure. Um but before I go… how's that _other thing _going? You know, what you talked to me about last week?"

"It's okay, I think. I'm still getting that feeling… that _watched _feeling. But I'm beginning to think it's just stress. I'm probably just hallucinating or something."

"Well, alright. Just let me know if it ever becomes… well… more than a feeling, okay?"

"Will do. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Christine."

By the end of the conversation I was trembling so violently I thought I might collapse. I struggled back to my house where I collapsed into a chair and held my head in my hands.

"Oh Christine… what have you done?" I moaned, allowing a few persistent tears to flow forth.

I didn't know what to make of all this. There was just so much to sort through.

The boy… he was in love with her. Did she know that? I wondered if she had meant to betray me or if she only thought to talk to her trusted friend. She was innocent enough that it was possible for her not to see that her _friend _wanted to be so much more.

Looking back, I even wonder if she knew the consequences of her actions. I had once threatened to leave her if she didn't sever her connection to the young man. But since then I had left her anyway. It was necessary and in the back of my mind I honestly believed that she knew this and understood. It is possible I was wrong.

There was another problem, I realized. She suspected me. I don't know how she could have known… I was always so careful. Even with the gifts I brought to her.

Perhaps you wonder why it is she never found out about that. In all reality it had been a risk that could have gotten me into some real trouble. If she had called her foster mother to thank her, likely Mrs. Valerius would have told her that she sent no such things. But, lucky for me, I was obsessed with a girl who had been trained to send thank-you cards and letters for everything. I bribed the mail-room clerk and those lovely little notes were intercepted. I added them to my collection.

The point is that I honestly could think of no legitimate reason why she should have had that 'watched feeling'. I wondered if it might not be some sort of intuition on her part. Or maybe, in my absence, she had started to think more critically about her _Angel of Music._ Or maybe it was just stress, like she said.

I took a quick glance at my calendar. It would not be long now. Two weeks until she was mine. Even with her suspicions, there was little she could do.

And yet… I did not want to risk alerting anyone who might come looking for her. I'd handle that if need be but I wanted as few complications as possible. I knew I'd have my hands full when Christine arrived.

It would be alright. Two weeks. Until then I'd just have to be a little more cautious and make sure those paranoid suspicions remain just that.


	14. Chapter 14

How can I describe to you the increasing excitement I felt as the time grew nearer? It was almost as exciting as it was to finally have her. Not quite… but close.

I spent more and more sleepless nights pondering. Would she accept me or would I have to fight her? Should I be firm or gentle? Would she miss her old life or would she see how much better off she is here? How long until she gives in to me? How will I win her trust? Could she love me?—or at least like me?

I know I've said it before… but it was so much like the way I felt about teaching her lessons. The excitement, the anticipation… only now it was heightened. Oh how I loved her!

The Chagny situation was still touchy, but I believed it was at least past critical.

He was in the Navy—well, the Reserves—and it had originally been my plan to have him shipped off to some place unpleasant. Unfortunately, though it pains me to admit it, even my influence only goes so far.

To be fair, I believe that had I really set my mind to it, I could have made it happen. I have manipulated governments before. Computer hacking, blackmail, manipulation—I have a whole bag of tricks at my disposal.

However it all proved to be unnecessary and, though I do harbor an ounce of resentment towards the boy, I have no plans to go out of my way for his assassination. I can hardly blame him, after all. Who wouldn't love Christine?

But… she is mine. And he would just have to accept that.

But what was I saying? Ah, yes, I remember. For once it seemed that Christine's sense of pride worked in my favor. Though her prospects were becoming fewer and fewer, she continued to politely decline the young man's offer of help.

I'll never understand Christine… on the one hand she wants to maintain a glimmer of independence (at least in her own eyes) and, on the other, she is afraid to be alone.

Well, at least she won't have to worry about that last one ever again. As for the former… well, she'll learn to trust me eventually.

At any rate, she started seeking more desperate options, finding a shabby but inexpensive apartment in a questionable neighborhood and a waitressing job at a restaurant that someone of her caliber should never step foot in, even as a customer.

I let her hold on to those plans. Her depression seemed to be mounting as it was and I thought it would ease her stress level a bit to not worry about finding herself homeless on graduation day. Couldn't have her failing her exams due to unnecessary anxiety. And it wasn't as if I was ever going to actually let her near those places.

Moreover, I was still trying to pacify her suspicions. If a graduate from an elite private academy could not secure even a waitressing job… it goes without saying that she'd begin to question if all was well.

Her depression worried me, though. I watched her close down, become withdrawn. She spent much of her time in her room but I don't think she was sleeping much. In the mornings she barely dragged herself out of bed, going to class with circles under her eyes and trembling hands. She jumped at every noise and kept looking over her shoulder.

Perhaps the worst part of it was that nobody seemed to notice. Once the excitement of her stunning performance died down, she seemed to slip back into the shadows… poor, invisible Christine.

It's an odd thing, really. She glows when she is on stage performing… but she seems to thrive just as much when she is alone in the practice room with me. I've never seen anything like it… someone who is indifferent to fame in such a way. It's usually an either/or sort of deal. Either people shine in the spotlight, or they shy away from it. Christine just… is. She doesn't really care who's watching—she just wants to sing.

I can relate to that.

Actually—I thought, just as the realization hit me—it is not quite that simple. She just likes to sing, true. She doesn't care who is watching… _she just doesn't want to be alone_.

How could I have been so stupid?

I felt the intense need to hurt myself. I had been so caught up in my plans to make her happy that I had ignored the fact that she was dying before my very eyes. All the life that I had cultivated in her over the years was slipping away and she was once again looking at the world through those dead eyes that I had been so moved by so long ago. She had become that same little child she had once been—the one frightened into indifference.

All this time I had repeatedly told myself to be patient… that she would hold out and wait for me. It was only a few months… late December to early June. I thought she would last that long. I thought I had given her enough strength that she would continue on without me (a prospect which had hurt even to imagine… but I did anyway for her sake). But it would seem she needed me more than either of us realized. I would have been overjoyed had I not been overwhelmed with grief.

I glanced at the calendar again. (I don't know why I'd been doing that as I would never forget the date in my mind… a nervous habit I suppose.) Briefly I considered moving up the date of our meeting, but I quickly repressed that thought. Though the notion sent a bolt of electricity straight to my fingertips, I was determined to see her graduate.

Not to do so would be enormously selfish. Obsessed I may be, but not selfish… at least not completely. I was doing this as much for her as for myself. We were meant to be together.

So an early kidnapping was out, but I still needed to be with her. She needed me—by then I had become wholly convinced of that. And I missed her.

I guess that could only mean it was time to pay my girl a visit.


	15. Chapter 15

I scaled the building easily, though with every step I cursed the school for housing her on the fourth floor. I probably should forgive them for that—they had no reason to know that I would have preferred easier access—but I am not a forgiving sort of man. That's another matter entirely… stop trying to distract me.

As I settled myself outside her window (the building has these convenient little half-balconies meant for decoration but ideal for spying), it occurred to me that I had never seen the inside of her dorm room before. It was disgustingly pink, which I would not have suspected from Christine. Though, the more I took in the surroundings, I began to realize that she probably hadn't had much say in the decorating. A point that became absolutely apparent as soon as her roommate floated into the room.

A frizzy-haired Christine was reclining at the head of the bed (which, though very feminine, looked entirely bland beside its bubble-gum counterpart) with a novel. It was an adorably comfortable sight, though she looked entirely too attractive in her freshman gym shorts and oversized tee-shirt.

I know. I know. But I love her.

Anyway, she looked up as the Giry girl bounded in gracefully (though not quietly) and did a funny little twirl on her toes followed by a summersault onto her bed. When I imagine that girl as a toddler, I think that Mrs. Giry deserves a medal.

Christine looked up from her book with an amused expression on her face. Hmm. She certainly didn't look like the depressed little soul I'd seen on camera. I put that thought from my mind. She needed me. I was sure of it.

"Hi, Meg," she said, "I take it rehearsal went well?" She was still in her leotard; there was a ballet performance in two days.

"Smashing, darling. I have to go back, though. We're just on dinner break. Care to join me?"

"No thanks," she answered, gesturing to a cup of tea and box of donuts, "I'm eating in tonight."

"Ooh! Donuts… no, wait, I shouldn't. But right after the performance you and I are definitely ordering pizza. Deal?"

"Absolutely. Have fun at practice, Meg."

"Thanks. Have fun… what is it you are doing? Reading? Good gravy, Christine you are such a nerd."

"Thanks."

"Oh, yeah… I almost forgot! Prince Charming called earlier. My cell's on my desk if you want to call him back."

Christine threw one of the many pink, fuzzy pillows at her roommate, who dodged easily and darted from the room.

That was a surprisingly normal conversation… minus the Prince Charming part. As soon as Meg left, though, Christine sighed wearily and pushed her glasses up to rub her temples.

I honestly wasn't sure what to make of all this. She seemed so… unpredictable. Women unnerve me sometimes. But still… I missed her. It had been a while and we were long overdue for some time alone together.

I waited on that stupid balcony—which had seemed like a good idea at first but was now starting to dig uncomfortably into my back—for several long minutes until she set down the book with a sigh and went to the bathroom, muttering something about 'stupid Meg' and 'loosing her place'.

Not knowing what to expect, I had brought with me a number of accessories, one being a mild sedative. I dropped in through the window and quickly slipped a few drops into her tea.

It wasn't the worst case scenario, by any means, but she took a large gulp the cooling tea and grimaced. Hmm. I guess she tasted the chemicals. Luckily, she had already consumed enough to dull her senses a bit.

Good enough for me.

I gave her about five minutes as she started to doze before I made my move.

"Christine…" I said, putting a musical lilt into each syllable.

She rubbed her face, trying to clear her foggy mind. "Who—who's there?"

"How I have missed you. Did you miss your angel, Christine?"

"My angel?"

"Yours, Christine. Ever yours."

"You left me."

"You disobeyed me. You should have left the boy alone."

She was growing groggier by the moment. She made a face as if she were trying to make sense of it… as if part of her thought it was wrong but she couldn't quite remember why.

"Oh." She answered.

"But I have chosen to forgive you, my precious girl. And I never truly left… I am always watching you."

She nodded absently, a little scowl forming between her eyebrows. The moment her eyes shut, I hit the lights and emerged from the shadows cast by the curtains. I approached delicately… it wouldn't do to ruin things this far in the game. She was pretty out of it.

I lay down beside her on the narrow bed—which felt too good to feel guilty about—and settled her over my chest, tucking her curly head under my chin. Sort of like I did at the hospital a few years back only much, much better… this time I wasn't beside myself with worry.

How do I explain this without sounding mad? I knew it would have been safer had she been fast asleep… but I could not have brought myself to touch her then. Had she drank the entire cup of tea, I would have made myself content to watch over her as she slept. It seemed wrong, somehow, to hold an unconscious girl… like I was taking advantage of her vulnerability. But… like this… in this drugged, unaware but half-conscious state… I could pretend that she knew and wanted me there.

We had taken a walk, you see. Yes, a walk in the park… just the two of us. Just like any other couple. We laughed and talked, losing track of time until my Christine found herself dozing on my shoulder. I didn't mind of course. I carried her home—our home—where I promptly put her to bed and tucked her in, singing her to sleep. Yes, that's right. The next morning she would blush adorably and apologize for her faux pas, to which I would chuckle and secretly hope it happens again tonight.

Mumbling sleepy, incoherent words, she draped a lazy arm over my waist and pressed her cold little nose into my neck. I hummed a soft lullaby as I reveled in the unfamiliar sense of contentment that she brought to me. Someday, I vowed, I would have this every night.

It is at that exact moment when I knew that I would marry Christine Daae.


	16. Chapter 16

By the time Graduation Day (because it would be bad form to call it kidnapping day) rolled around I felt like a director on opening night—thoroughly exhausted, excited, and apprehensive at the same time. You assure yourself that you've done everything possible to prepare for the show and there's nothing left to be done but sit back and trust that it'll go smoothly. You assure yourself of that a thousand times but it does nothing to quell those nervous jitters.

The actual graduation ceremony was lovely of course, and Christine managed to look beautiful even in that horrid black smock and cardboard hat. But it was the night to come that had me in a constant state of mild panic.

The timing had been planned out perfectly and in explicit detail. I had wanted to perform the actual kidnapping myself but decided against it at the last minute. Though I consider myself quite accomplished as an assassin, I haven't much experience with capturing someone alive. Beyond that, I didn't want to be seen by her as an attacker. That surely wouldn't help my cause at all. Better, I decided, if someone else was the bad guy. I would merely be there to console her when she arrived at my home.

That was the biggest hurdle regarding her capture (the detainment was its own operation). What had taken the most time were the smaller details that needed to wait until the last minute so she wouldn't find out. Her apartment lease, for instance, needed to be terminated. Her job as well… although in doing so I noticed that the building was in a prime location for some other business ventures I had in mind (legitimate, I promise!) so I promptly bought the place and had it torn down. But I digress.

I just can't get over how terribly convenient my time-scheme was for all of this. I am so glad I decided not to move up the date. As it was, her meager belongings were already packed in moving boxes. Since it was the end of the year, she was expected to move out and so not a soul—not even her roommate—would be surprised or suspicious if she suddenly… just wasn't there.

The belongings were the secondary priority, but a priority nonetheless for obvious reasons. I did wonder what to do with it all, however. I thought to have it all destroyed—she wouldn't need them anymore—but thought better of it. Clothes, bed sheets and the like could be eliminated but the rest I arranged to be put in storage. After the fact, I would look at the two remaining boxes and feel some conflicting things—heartbreak that she had so little, pride that most of it consisted of my secret gifts, and comfort in the knowledge that that pitiful life was far behind her. My perfect wife would never have to 'make do' ever again.

About that… my impending marriage… I suppose that I seemed to have glossed over that thought process earlier. For now, let me just say that I had been elated to realize that the distant fantasy that had burrowed itself deep into my subconscious might actually come to fruition. I hadn't given marriage much serious thought—it was just a fleeting fancy that passed by every now and again with the knowledge that such happiness would not be possible—but now that it was in my grasp, I could think of little else.

Sometimes I lie to myself. If I convince myself that I am not mad… that I draw the same conclusions any man would draw in a given situation… that my actions are completely and reasonably justified… it makes me feel a little more human. I want all the things that other men want… that's not wrong of me is it? Maybe it is. I don't always know right from wrong these days.

What I am trying to say is that _this _time, in _this _circumstance, I was completely and totally honest with myself. I didn't have to be… I could easily have justified my intent by saying I was only looking to protect Christine's honor in that she wouldn't be living alone with a man who was not her husband. Or I could have said that I was trying to legally bind her to me so that no other could come in and take her away.

But no, I never even bothered deluding myself. I wanted Christine for myself. Everything I had done thus far had been for Christine. But this… this was for Erik.

Christine radiated this… energy. I knew she possessed so much life and that the little bits that she had shown and given me just barely scratched the surface. She was private and repressed, but underneath it she was _alive_.

That is what I wanted. A wife like her… a living bride.

It seems like an odd thing to obsess over, I realize. But one must understand where I am coming from. Death has followed me my entire life. Hah! I cannot even look in the mirror without seeing it! My very being embodies death… my face, decay… my body, destruction…

But it is not only skin deep, this affliction. My mind embraces it… it seeks out suffering with the fervency that can only be found in a man who has nothing to lose.

I spent a few years in the Middle East, have I mentioned that? A short time, relatively—since I am not as old as I think I am—but by far some of my darker years. It seems like ages ago… before I had my own name. Do you know what they called me there? Death. That was it! That was my name! Likewise was it my primary occupation and most valued service to the queen. It's a sorry thing to be called, I suppose… but it was mine… and it was the first name I ever had to myself.

But that time is behind me, you see. I have become weary of such things.

But Christine… oh Christine is the embodiment of light and goodness. I thought, if only I could tap that hidden vitality… maybe… maybe she'd let me have some of it.

I wasn't deluded enough to believe she would repair my ruined soul. I cannot be fixed, nor am I worthy of healing. But I thought, how utterly happy it would make me to have a wife who was alive even if I am not!

I wanted to bind myself to someone with life in them. My own living bride… the thing every other man takes for granted. My Christine would be the most treasured woman on earth.

These thoughts I am having… they hurt… because they remind me of what I am. I should… I cannot continue. Let me instead return to my story. Yes, that is what I will do…

The man I hired to kidnap Christine was said to be more than competent and so far entirely successful. As the evening wore on, though, I found myself growing more and more restless. Sure, I knew that it would be done… that Christine would be delivered safely to me by the end of the night… the logical side of my mind knew this. But I couldn't just sit back and leave everything to chance. I'm not used to trusting others, and I was certainly not prepared to entrust the well-being of my love to another man, no matter how highly recommended.

And so I followed him.

I figured that, if all went to plan, I could still beat him home and be there when Christine arrived.

However to this day I remain grateful for my paranoia. It was good that I followed him.

Despite how I may have made it sound, the academy does not simply eject its seniors into the streets five minutes after the graduation ceremony. Though that is the time when they typically leave with their parents, the students actually have two to three days after the semester's close to finish packing their belongings and saying their final goodbyes. Or, in the case of many seniors, attend various celebrations.

It is because of these parties that I was fairly confident that Christine could be removed from the building without incident.

I was adamant that I did not want Christine injected with anything unless I was administering it. There was too much potential for complications. One being that the line between unconsciousness and death is _very _thin when dealing with anesthesia and one cannot always be as exact in the field as they would in a hospital… that coupled with the fact that she had a reaction to the medication she'd been given for her appendectomy… it was just too risky.

Really that was my only condition besides the obvious ones of her coming to me on time and unharmed. Though the man I hired was reluctant to agree to it at first, he assured me that the operation could still proceed with the highest degree of professional precision.

The young man was an interesting character. I can see why he was so successful at his profession. Not just in personality, either. He had this look to him… totally and completely nondescript. If you could picture the most average-looking late-twenties, white male you've ever seen—average height, weight, hair that could be dark blond or light brown, no distinguishing facial features whatsoever—that is the man I hired. There is no way someone could describe him to the authorities with any helpfulness.

Now, had it been me… well… that would be another story entirely. Come to think of it… maybe it's a good thing I never had to take my targets alive.

Ah, but this guy… he could walk straight into a room and out again in broad daylight without turning a single head. Actually, the reason he gained any recognition among the higher-class of criminal life was because of a brilliant little maneuver he'd pulled off six or seven years ago in which he strode purposefully into a ballroom, removed a small but very expensive piece of artwork and strode out just as purposefully. No one had thought to stop him at the time and, by the time someone suspected foul-play, the police couldn't manage to pull a useful description from witnesses.

Something remarkably similar had been planned in this instance. Granted, there are more factors involved in a kidnapping than an ordinary theft, but you get the basic idea.

He was to enter the dormitory through the main first-floor entrance, proceed to the fourth floor (which was temporarily opened to both genders to expedite the moving-out process) which would undoubtedly be deserted due to the celebrations in other buildings—celebrations Christine would not attend because my darling gets uncomfortable at teenage parties ('sensory overload' she calls it… I take it the lights and sounds and crowds can be overwhelming for a girl of her temperament).

Once he persuaded Christine out of her room, it would just be a matter of forcing her back through the front exit. The security cameras were set on a loop so that nothing would appear out of the ordinary. Not that it mattered as the guards were more concerned with stopping pranksters and preventing underage-drinking than monitoring an empty dorm lobby.

But I suspect my associate needed to work on his skills in persuasion. I'm not sure, though… I never did bother to ask him. A pity he never got a chance to hone those… he showed a lot of promise…

Well, whatever he did, as my car rolled up to the building I was just in time to see Christine struggling like a madwoman as her assailant tried to subdue her. It would have been comical had it not been so horrifying. I imagine she'd agree with that assessment as well… though I'd never ask her.

"Shut up!" he screamed, pinning both arms to her sides. He tried to cover her mouth and she bit his hand hard. Growling expletives which I shall not record but rest assured should never have touched my Christine's perfect ears, he violently wrenched back her head and jabbed a needle directly into her neck.

Now the moment I heard him scream at her, I was already out of the car cursing myself for ever considering contracting this type of operation rather than doing it myself. I really did think it would be in Christine's best interest! Ah well, isn't there something about Hell and good intentions and whatnot?

I reached Christine's side in time to see her go limp in the other man's arms. To be honest, I have to be rather proud of myself… every muscle in my spindly body twitched in rage to kill the man who had disobeyed me and put my love in danger. However, I was the very personification of calm as I approached the two. Priorities, you see. One has to have priorities.

"I told you I didn't want her drugged." I said, simply. I think I startled him with my approach. He was a professional, and used to remaining alert in such situations. Christine's unexpectedly fierce protests must have put him on edge.

"What would you have me do? You said she would come quietly."

Well, she _would _have come quietly if I had come for her. Some gentle words laced with well placed threats should have kept her quiet, while a firm hold on twisted arms would have kept her moving. Christine is a timid girl… not one to put up much fuss, especially when she's afraid.

"I would have you obey my orders. If she has been otherwise harmed, you know I will not be pleased."

The boy was doing an admirable job at concealing his fear. If I did not make so much money off of the emotion, I might not have detected it. No matter. Afraid or not, he would not see morning.

We spoke just a little while longer. He probably would have argued his point some but I was concerned about Christine. I took just enough time to learn exactly what she had been injected with, inform him that I would be taking Christine the rest of the way myself and that his agreed upon fee would be waiting for him in the prearranged location.

My driver had pulled the car up to the curb behind me and I carefully loaded Christine into the backseat before climbing in beside her. After making sure my bride was adequately comfortable, I only had one last phone call to make before we could start our lives together.

"Hello, Nadir? Yes… who else? I need to arrange a pickup. That's right, the poor boy overdosed on something…"


	17. Chapter 17

Though I am overall paranoid and prefer to be independent, there are a few people in this world that I trust with select things.

Jules, for example, is a perfect assistant for all things above board. And, believe it or not, the majority of what I do is legitimate business. My drivers and house servants I must also be able to rely on.

All of these people have several traits in common—nonnegotiable characteristics that I require of everyone allowed close enough to be privy to one or two of my many secrets. They are all efficient, discreet, unquestioningly obedient, and if they suspect anything amiss in my dealings or behaviors, they are either too smart or too fearful to mention it.

And then there's Nadir.

Years ago he made the unfortunate mistake of saving my life. Sometimes I wonder if he ever regrets the decision, as it seems to have bound us together in an odd sort of brotherhood… if you could call it that. I will talk more about Nadir later, but for now just know that that single moment of kindness will probably forever complicate both our lives.

For that reason, I put up with a lot more of his nonsense than I probably should. Do not be mistaken though; my patience for him does have its limits. Christine is the only person in my life who is not expendable.

Speaking of which, let me return to my story. Once I had finished my little tidying-up phone call with Nadir as well as one more short call to someone who would ensure the kidnapper actually _did _overdose on something (because wouldn't _that _be embarrassing), I was free to return my attention to my darling Christine, who by now was fast asleep beside me in the car.

I spent a good while monitoring her condition and overall checking her for damage. She had a set of fingerprint sized bruises forming along her collarbone—though, from the look of that nasty shiner I'd seen on the kidnapper's face, I'd say she did much better than he did. As immersed in my self loathing as I was, I still couldn't help but feel a pulse of pride for my brave girl. She hadn't gone quietly, that's for sure.

To my relief, she had only been given a mild sedative. It was my hope that she wouldn't sleep too long. I was impatient to speak to her face to…well… face, I guess. And I wanted to show her my house. Our house.

Satisfied that she was relatively unharmed, I had the rest of our drive to simply enjoy her. Her skin was pink, and hair relatively damp—she must have just come out of the shower. I would have been uncomfortable and more than a little angry, thinking that her attacker had come after her as she was bathing, but she seemed fully dressed to go out somewhere. Hmm. Maybe she'd planned to go to the party after all.

No matter. I had my own sort of celebration in mind.

She smelled… so good. So good. One of those small blessings that I am forever grateful for is that not having a nose really doesn't do much to affect one's sense of smell. It causes other problems, certainly, but I'd take those any day if it meant just one chance to take in that divine scent in her hair. I wondered what perfume she used. I had only been truly close to her twice as of yet, and neither time was she in a position to care about such things.

Suddenly remembering my manners, I pulled the silk band I had in my pocket and blindfolded her, just in case she woke up.

Now, it would be easy to assume that I do these things for control or intimidation or some other absurdity. But that is simply not the case.

I am not a complete ogre… I merely did it for _her own comfort_.

You see, I learned early on in our relationship that Christine seems a bit light sensitive… you know, she squints when she enters a bright room and, likewise, takes an inordinately long time to adjust to the dark.

At first I was afraid there might be a problem. I wondered if she might go blind someday—which, frankly, I had mixed feelings about. I did some research, though, which assured me that it was a relatively common problem and nothing to be particularly worried about.

But still, it was my desire to keep her as comfortable as possible. In the even she woke up early, I surely did not want to run the risk of the bright streetlamps giving her a headache or something.

Really, it's not as if I was overly concerned with her knowing her location. We could be out in the boondocks or in her own neighborhood… three minutes away from civilization or three days. It didn't matter as far as she was concerned. She wasn't leaving.

Everything I do, you see… it's all for her.

After I secured the silk around her head, I smiled and took her hand in mine.

"It's alright, my darling," I whispered, fondly stroking her hair, "there are no bright lights where you're going."

--

The ride home was brief, as I live less than an hour away. All the same, I was disappointed to see her still unconscious. With a regretful sigh I carried her to her room and laid her on her bed.

She was mine. There was always that. Yes. Always that…

I don't know how long I stared at her, willing her to wake up. Eventually, though, I had to come to the conclusion that she would probably be out for the night.

Frustrated but not deterred, I retired to my music room. Maybe I could write a song for her. Yes… something cheerful. She would like that.

--

I like composing. It gives my mind something to work on while I mull over the intricacies of life. The day, though, had been so utterly draining on me that I found myself dozing off for the first time in my memory.

Well, I decided that if I wanted to be alert for Christine, I'd better take advantage of my uncharacteristic desire to sleep.

I was out quicker than I expected, and I think I must have gotten a rare four or five hours again before I was startled awake.

I am thankful (you know, it's odd… before Christine I thought I had nothing to be thankful about… but now I seem to be finding blessings in the oddest of places. Imagine that...) that my house is generally kept in absolute silence whenever the music is exhausted. It is for that reason alone that I was able to detect the frantic knocking and muffled cries that wrenched me from my sleep.

I am not sure why I was shaking… whether it was excitement or merely that adrenaline one experiences when awaking suddenly from a deep sleep. Regardless, I was trembling so violently that I nearly ran into a wall on my way up to Christine's chambers.

I quietly opened the door. It was obvious she hadn't notice me yet as she was still recklessly clamoring through drawers and cupboards, pulling things out as she went, looking for… what?... a key? A weapon?

It was a fruitless search, of course, but I could not help my distress that she would even be looking for such things.

I cleared my throat and she turned around abruptly, yanking a pillow from the bed and putting it in front of her like some sort of fluffy shield. What an odd girl.

"Who are you? What do you want… please… please don't hurt me!" she half screamed, half sobbed.

Hurt her? I was honestly confused. I could never hurt her! Why would she think such a thing?

"My dear, I am not going to hurt you… I would never hurt you."

I thought that would help to assuage her fears… but it did not. Actually, it seemed to have quite the opposite affect. She threw the pillow at me—which I caught out of reflex—and darted behind a desk.

"What are you playing at, Christine?" I asked. I had expected her to be angry… surprised maybe… but never in my wildest dreams had I anticipated such absolute terror. It hurt. Very badly. It made me a little angry too—but I wasn't about to show it.

"Who are you? How do you know my name? Why have you done this to me?"

So many questions! Where to begin?

Somehow it didn't seem appropriate to call myself her fiancé just yet. I didn't think she'd take that well.

"I am only a friend, Christine… perhaps the best you have ever known."

Slowly I approached her.

"St—stay away from me!" She backed up, her hands out in warning, until she tripped and fell back into a chair.

"Surely you haven't forgotten your angel?"

"Angel?" she whispered.

Her face dropped. The grimace she bore relaxed into a look of recollection followed by another look… one that I knew well… it was the wounded sort of look that only comes from being hopelessly betrayed.

It was that look that was my undoing. In an instant I was on my knees before her, weeping and trembling like a child.

It's a funny thing, really. I have traveled the world both as an assassin and as an architect (sometimes both, oddly enough) and I have refused to kneel before anyone—Queen or President or Emperor—regardless of the consequences. And yet, here I was, bowing low at the feet of a helpless teenager.

There was more, though. For the first time in my miserable existence, I wished I was a _real_ angel. Just so I would have something more worthy to throw at her feet.

I touched my forehead to her shoe… kissed the hem of her pants… all the while uttering nearly incoherent words of devotion. I should have been embarrassed by my subservience… but even now I cannot bring myself to feel that way.

When I had composed myself once again risked another glance at her. I raised my unworthy eyes to hers with the desperation of a drowning man giving one final plea to heaven. She was crying, hiding her face in her palms.

"Christine… oh my Christine… do not cry. No harm will come to you."

"Please…" she whispered, "please let me go."

I shook my head regretfully. "I cannot, Christine. I love you."

We stayed silent like that for some time as she attempted to calm herself and stop the tears. She was weary. I could tell.

"What do you want from me?"

I may have laughed then. I cannot remember. She truly did not understand, did she? I did not want anything _from _her…

"Don't you see, Christine? I want all of you."

That was absolutely the wrong thing to say. She started weeping anew.

This was going nowhere, I realized. She should not have woken up so early… yes, that must be it. She was very tired.

I took her wrists and made her look into my eyes as I started to sing. My voice can be… hypnotic… if I try hard enough. Before long, my song had put her to sleep. I carried her back to her bed once more.

Tomorrow would be better.


	18. Chapter 18

As Christine slept, I had a good amount of time to reflect on the day's events.

Falling apart in front of her had probably not been the best thing to do. I couldn't have helped it though… I was finally in the presence of the woman I loved. It was the first time I presented myself to her as a man… well, while she was awake, that is. I had so often dreamed of this encounter and, when it actually happened, I found it was completely overwhelming to me.

And she was beautiful.

And she was mine.

And she was wearing my ladybug earrings.

Well, today I would just have to control myself better. She didn't need some sniveling male who groveled at her feet every time he saw her… though that is what I felt like. She could get that from any of those weak idiots who would believe they stood a chance with her.

No, Christine deserved someone strong. Someone who to be in control and prove that he could take care of her. I could do that. I could be everything to her.

Oh Christine! I would give you everything if only you would love me!

Who am I kidding? I would give her everything anyway. Whether she could love me or not remained to be seen.

And another thing. It continued to bother me that Christine was so distressed last night. I could chalk it up to her tiredness or the unnecessary amount of stress the actually act of kidnapping had applied on her.

Just in case, though, I thought I better try to make it up to her.

My gaze can be unnerving to people. More so my face, but lets not talk about that. So that she didn't have to wake up to find me staring at her, I decided to leave a note on her nightstand.

_My dearest Christine, _

_I hope that you have slept well. There is a bathroom to your right should you wish to freshen up and you will find fresh clothes in the closet to your left. I trust you will find something to your liking. If not, you have only to say so, my dear. I wish only the best for you, Christine. _

_I will return to you at 1 o'clock for lunch. I am sure you have questions for me as well. Please do not fear, Christine. You will find no better or respectful a friend than I. _

_-Your most humble servant_

----

I eagerly awaited our appointed time. I wondered how she would feel… how she would look… what she would be wearing.

I was positive she would love her new wardrobe as I had taken as much care with that as I had with the rest of her accommodations. The large walk-in closet was filled with clothes in all colors for every occasion. They were all made to fit her perfectly as well.

That part, though I'm sure a bit confusing to her, was surprisingly easy to manage. Accessing the measurements taken for her choir uniform had given me all the information I needed to know.

Well… almost all I needed to know. It's not like they took her sizes for undergarments. That was undeniably embarrassing. Nevertheless, it was another one of those details that needed to be dealt with. Hence I was required to spend several awkward minutes across the camera monitor staring exclusively at her breasts… which are lovely… but… well… you know…

Ahem. Moving on…

The room itself was as worthy as I could manage. I'd done my absolute best, with my extensive knowledge of her tastes and preferences, to create a bedroom suite to fit her quite personality. She had a desk with paper and pens for writing, all the finest soaps and makeup for the bathroom (the fragrances I had picked out myself), plenty of mirrors (the only ones in the house), and more jewelry and pretty things than a reasonable person could ever imagine.

No phone, though.

No books either, which was entirely selfish on my part. I wanted her to have a reason to come to the library with me. That's not to say that it wasn't also in Christine's best interest. If I didn't take steps to coax her out, she'd be holed up in her room all day, and that couldn't be healthy at all now, could it?

I thought of these things as I slowly wandered down the hall to her rooms. I wondered if she'd taken the time yet to explore what I had created for her. I hoped so… yesterday she'd only seemed intent on destroying it.

But that was yesterday. Today would be different.

I was surprised, therefore—and not a little irritated—to find her still in bed. Not sleeping… no, Christine was never one to sleep late. She was just curled up in a ball, her back against the headboard and her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth.

"What are you doing? It is 1 o'clock already. Why are you still in bed?" I asked, harsher than I intended. She was still wearing her clothes from last night—shoes too, as if she was ready to bolt at any moment. She looked up but her eyes seemed to stare straight through me. It was unsettling.

"Please don't hurt me… please don't hurt me… please don't hurt me…" she whispered over and over again like a mantra.

I was frustrated. Why did she keep saying that? Hadn't I told her I would never hurt her? Hadn't I promised to keep her safe? What was wrong with her?

What is it she wanted me to say?

My frustration gave way to a confused sort of anger. I longed to grab her delicate shoulders and shake her senseless… and then fall on my knees and beg her forgiveness.

But, no. I had promised myself that I would be strong… that I would be firm enough to guide her through this emotional time. She needed me now especially.

With practiced efficiency, I concealed my emotions. Then I approached the bed, towering over her. She looked so small then… so helpless… so utterly vulnerable…

Oh how I loved her!

"It is time to get up, Christine. I cannot have you sitting here all day. I shall give you one hour to shower and dress and do whatever it is you need to do to get ready for the day. Then I will return for you, do you understand? You will not keep me waiting."

She looked up at me, terror evident on her face, and nodded. _Damn you, Christine! Stop acting this way. _

I could not bear to see that look on her face any longer. I honestly did not understand what she was so afraid of. What happened to the trusting girl who sang for me all those years?

The quiet voice telling me that it might be my fault made my stomach sick.

Suddenly I felt like the walls were closing in on me. I had to get out of there.

I raised my hand as if to stroke her cheek but quickly dropped it to my side before I made contact.

Without another word, I turned and left.


	19. Chapter 19

When I returned an hour later, I was pleased to see that Christine had taken my advice and readied herself. She hadn't ventured into the shower yet—the bathroom still looked cold and unused—but I figured that sort of trust would come with time. I'd add another lock if I thought it would help. Even so, she appeared to have washed her face and changed out of her wrinkled clothing and looked overall refreshed.

I was happy. We'd made progress this morning.

"I've made lunch, Christine. Come join me."

"I'm not hungry."

My temper—unaccustomed to being restrained—urged me to force or threaten her. I pushed that away. I made a vow not to frighten her any more today.

"Oh. Well, then, you may just come and sit with me."

She nodded weakly. Like a true gentleman, I extended my elbow to her and, out of reflex, she reached to take it.

Only when she touched my arm with her fingertips did she pull away with a gasp.

"Forgive me…" I moaned. For a second, I'd forgotten what I was. She makes me do that sometimes… makes me feel like a man. Only when I start to believe it does the realization comes crashing down on me.

My skin, you see, is remarkably cold. At one point I looked up the biology of it all… but that's really not important to the story. Have you ever been cold... have you stayed out in the snow to long and it made your skin like ice? If you touch something warm… it feels almost hot, right? That's what she feels like to me. This glorious heat that burns my skin with the simplest touch.

But, for her, it must have been like touching ice. It was embarrassing… it was depressing… it was ugly and painful and a million other loathing emotions to have her recoil from me in such a fashion.

But that was not the time to dwell on such things. After my pained apology, I stepped ahead of her and beckoned for her to follow me into the dining room.

She quietly sat down at the counter as I served her. Tomato soup and grilled cheese… her favorite. My darling has simple tastes in most areas. There would be plenty of time in the future to expose her to more sophisticated things, but today I thought she might need some comfort food.

She looked at the meal skeptically, to which I just sighed. Would she always mistrust me so?

"Christine, I am not going to poison you. Please eat something… I know you must be hungry by now. If this is not to your liking, I will gladly fix you something else."

At least I knew she wouldn't be able to hold out forever. If she refused this meal, I knew she'd give in to the next or the one after that.

Still I was pleased to see her take a hesitant bite. She closed her eyes, but not before I saw that brief glimmer of contentment cross her face.

If only everything could be so simple!

"What is your name," she asked after a time.

I puzzled over the question for a moment. I have had many names, you see… dozens, really. I have made investments in many of the world's largest companies all using various aliases.

If anyone knew just how much power I had, I would not be able to retain my seclusion in this manner.

Besides, I do not truly desire to rule the world… if the human race wants to run itself into the ground, who am I to stop them.

Not that I'm complaining—all of this has made me a very rich man. All the better to spoil Christine with.

But, as far as a name goes, I do not have one in the traditional sense. My mother never bothered to name me. She said that only _people_ deserved names. Sometimes pets too… if you don't mind being called Fluffy or Spot. But I did not qualify as any of those things, in her opinion, and she refused to name the '_it' _that I was.

I also have no birth certificate or ID of any kind. I was born at home to a single mother who never recorded the birth. Officially speaking, I do not exist.

Actually, that oversight has been overwhelmingly beneficial to me, as I often have need to remain undetected. Perhaps I should thank my mother!

Mm… I think I will not, though.

I've already told you about the first time I was given a name, so I'll not delve into that further. Such a desperate man I was back then…

In my mind, though, I like to call myself Erik. So that was the name I gave to her. She looked expectant for a moment… I suppose wondering if I had a last name. I didn't have one to give her, of course, and explained that I'd picked up the name Erik by accident.

Which was true, odd as it sounds.

You see, there was only one other person besides Nadir who has ever shown me mercy. Erik was the first man who was ever kind to me… I mean, truly kind… not manipulative or mocking… just kind.

And I killed him.

Well, strictly speaking, I was not the one to kill him. The queen of some country—whose name is irrelevant—had me tightly under her manicured thumb. Her devoted little pet who did magic tricks and committed murder at the same time for her perverse entertainment.

One day I was given the assignment straight from the king. I was to murder an unfortunate man who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and seen something he shouldn't. I winced when I saw the name… I knew that man.

Erik was an archeologist, I think… someone who had no business being in the country in the first place except for his inescapable compulsion to learn new things. I had met him only once, but we'd had a lengthy conversation then.

He was good enough to tell me that I had the potential to become more than what I was. His words… they might have been lies… but they meant more to me than any of the twisted truths that had been silkily uttered through wicked lips.

Those simple encouragements changed my whole perspective. That night… for the first time in my life I did not pray to God to fix my face… instead I wept and pleaded with Him to make those simple words true.

Are you surprised to hear that I pray? Well, I do. Perhaps I have not always been obedient… but I have always believed. Even monsters need something to believe in.

Anyway, after I received my orders, I fled the room and retched. I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill the man.

I climbed through the window of his office to wait for him—just as I was supposed to—thinking that if I cleared my mind and forgot it who it was… if I told myself this was just any other mission, I could go through with it.

When stepped into the light, I found that the man was already in there… that he had fallen asleep at his desk. I cleared my throat and he woke with a start. His eyes widened as he realized the only reason I could be there. Oh… as long as I live I shall never forget those eyes! They were so… old… right then. But instead of fear or shock, they held only sadness and… pity.

Pity for me.

I turned back to the open window. "Leave town." I said simply, and quietly left the building.

The man took my advice without question and tried to leave the city that same day, trying to arrange transport out of the country. But it was too late.

News of my failure reached the court quickly—more evidence to my growing suspicion that I was being spied upon—and before I knew it, I found myself in the place of that young anthropologist.

Erik had been gunned down in the street by a hired man who had considerably less class in his technique, but apparently less reservations over targets.

And then it was _my_ head they were after.

It was Nadir who was my rescuer then. I had made preparations to leave the city even before the aborted assassination was discovered, but it was Nadir who warned me of the danger I was in and helped me to leave town. He was a sort of police chief or something—very high up in rank—and privy to the type of national secrets that I always had to acquire through less legitimate means… the lucky devil.

Anyway, he knew all about the hit placed on me since he was the one commanded to organize it. Instead he sent his men on a wild goose chase while he and I left the country.

It hadn't taken long before he'd learned that he was no longer welcome back into the country of his birth. He had nothing; I had no one… so we traveled together. Even after we split ways, he was always there, one step behind me.

He is a good friend when we're not trying to kill each other.

I had gone through a deep depression during that time. My part in Erik's death weighed heavily on my heart, and the fact that I had survived when he had not disturbed me. Not to mention that Nadir had lost everything by saving me.

I should have done something. I should have spoken with the queen… or killed them all during the countless times I'd had them in my presence.

Nadir tried his best to comfort me. He explained that my days there were already numbered long before my failed assignment… that the buildings I had designed for the royal family were so unique that they sought my death, lest any other country benefit from my creativity. He told me that I had already lost whatever sway I had over the officials. That there was nothing I could have done… that both the archeologist and myself would have died no matter what I did.

But I did not want to be comforted. I felt I deserved the pain. I should have been there. I should have personally made sure he made it out of the country. I can do almost anything… I should have done _something. _ In the end, I should have sacrificed myself for him. But I had been so caught up in my own survival that I hadn't even learned of his death until a week later.

Nadir was so good to put up with me during those times.

One day, when he climbed down into whatever cave or cellar I had been using at the time (he did that every now and again… force me to eat and have short conversations), I asked him:

"Why did you do it? Why did you give up everything to save me?" I couldn't wrap my brain around it. I was a thief… a murderer… and all sorts of ugly things. What about me made him think that I was worth saving?

He just shrugged, giving me a lopsided smile and said, "I don't really know. I guess I just figured you still had more to offer the world."

Those words hit home. He thought I had something to offer the world. That was eerily similar to what I had been told only months earlier. I wondered if Nadir was God's way of answering my prayer. That was good… that I could accept. It was something I could grasp and hold on to.

I emerged from my basement later that afternoon, ready to put my life back together.

That is the day I adopted the name 'Erik'. Only _people_ deserve names… that's what my mother said, but it was Erik who showed me that I could be human if I wanted to.

Anyway, I thought it was fitting. Hopefully he wouldn't be too offended.

Christine didn't need to know all of the sordid details of my life, though. Maybe much later, when she was my wife, I would be able to share some of these things with her. That is what husbands and wives do, right? But I could be absolutely certain that this was not the time for such darkness. Our relationship was too fragile right now.

So, as I was saying, I explained to her that I had taken the name Erik by accident and then ignored her puzzled looks.

I thought to let her guide the conversation… make her more comfortable, you know? But she didn't seem to have any more questions of me. Instead she looked down at her soup. I think the silence was awkward for her… it wasn't for me, since I was ever content to watch and adore her.

That unnerved her, apparently… my stare. I suppose it can get intense, especially when one is trying to eat. She kept glancing up at me every few bites. For the most part, she just looked wary and uncomfortable. Occasionally, though, she'd cock her eyebrow as if daring me to do or say something.

I smiled at that… not that she could tell.

Finally she pushed her bowl aside and rubbed her hand over her bloodshot eyes.

"Let me go, Erik," she said softly.

I shook my head. Hadn't we been over this? "I cannot."

More silence ensued.

We looked at each other for a long time. It was like a twisted staring contest. I watched her with uninhibited joy and she watched me as if she was trying to figure something out.

As satisfying as it was, I knew it could not last forever. Eventually she dropped her gaze… I'm, ah… I'm not sure if that means I won or lost. Anyway, I cleared my throat to draw her attention.

"Would you care to see my house?"


	20. Chapter 20

I am a pretty arrogant man in many areas. I make no apologies for the fact, though, as I figure that anyone who has as much going against him as I do has every right to take pride in whatever he can.

So it is not out of character for me to say that I have a spectacular house. I designed it myself and it suits my needs marvelously. Little did I know at the time, it would also be a perfect home for my bride.

That is, that is when we were at home… I did a lot of traveling for various business reasons, but this is the house I always thought of as 'home base'.

How exciting that I wouldn't be traveling alone anymore!

The prospect that I could go out—regardless of where I was in the world—and when I finished for the day, I'd have my wife waiting to greet me. How happy I would be!

Later in the evening we would dine out at some quiet restaurant, or maybe take a walk together. We'd share each other's days and discuss all sorts of things deep and trivial.

Yes, we would discuss trivial things—I bought a new dress today; I read a book I think you might like; have you picked up the mail, or should I?—the things that normal couples talk about.

Hmm. It was funny how I had my whole life planned out with the woman who was, at present, trembling behind me as we ventured into the basement.

Now, my house is… well, have you noticed how the houses in Tornado Alley are built with basements that are really more like an entire second house underground? Think of that, but on a _much _grander scale.

From the outside, the house looks like a simple, one or two bedroom cottage in the woods. It was nothing special, nothing worth visiting. A lovely garden, though.

But underneath it was magnificent. Practically a mansion. There were rooms down there to accommodate all of my various projects and activities. There was also space I didn't currently have a use for, but added it because it seemed like a normal house should have it—a family room, for example, and a formal dining area.

I walked Christine down the hallway, explaining things as I went. I am not sure how I managed to keep talking, though, as I have no idea what I was saying. I just let my mouth run as I spent most of my attention watching her reactions.

I don't think she was listening either… so I suppose it turned out alright.

I have a fondness for beautiful things and so the walls and shelves are all decorated with expensive artwork and delicate sculptures. Just collections of pretty things. I like to collect things.

I cannot accurately describe to you the pleasure I felt every time Christine's face softened or she reached out to touch something. The thought that she might have found even the slightest distraction from her apprehension overwhelmed me with joy.

She lingered at a tiny crystal hummingbird, running her long fingers over the ridge of its wing.

"Do you like it?" I asked.

She stopped, much to my disappointment, and folded her hands in front of her.

"Your home is very lovely," she said almost inaudibly, her eyes lowered to the ground.

It disturbed me that she refused to meet my gaze. When she wasn't examining something, she was looking down at her feet. It was irritating. Did she know that I wanted to look at her? I put one finger under her chin, thinking to raise her eyes to mine, but she tilted her head up before I touched her.

"_Our_ home," I murmured.

There was more I wanted to say, of course, but I didn't want to come off too strong. As it was, her beautiful, just-blue eyes started to fill up with tears.

I quickly dropped my hand and turned my back to her. I thought I'd give her a few seconds to compose herself. It was probably embarrassing for her to be crying all the time. Besides, my own eyes started feeling a little wet just then.

Distracting her always seemed like the best option when she was emotional, so I said in an overly excited voice, "Come and see my room!"

Agh. What was wrong with me? I sounded like an excited five-year-old who was greeting one of his parent's house guests.

Regardless of the sheer idiocy of my exclamation, I had already said it and hence pressed on. "It is very curious… so unlike the other rooms."

I looked up to see her halted at the doorway as if some invisible shield was keeping her from crossing the threshold. I know that feeling, as I've experienced it each time I enter her own room. Though I suppose, in this case, the reasons might be a mirrored opposite—like a sparrow about to enter the hawk's nest.

But—pardon my juvenile phraseology—I was eager to show her all the neat things I had.

"Do not be afraid, my darling. Come in, come in."

Hesitantly she ventured over the threshold and into the dimness that was my most private domain. She looked around, a pleasant inquisitiveness on her furrowed brow.

If only I knew whether she obeyed me out of curiosity or fear that she would make me angry…

But, the look on her face was encouraging, nevertheless.

The room itself spoke volumes about me, if one were to look closely. But people rarely do these days.

The walls were white and at the top there was a border of music notes. I had intended to paint a series of notes at random, but in the end I surveyed my handiwork do discover that I had actually just repeated the line of _Dies Irae _over and over again. That's evidence of my black mood if ever there was one.

I hoped Christine would not notice, but her gasp told me she did. Clever girl.

A second gasp clued me in to the fact that she had pulled back the set of curtains that concealed my bed. It's my own fault, really, for giving her license to explore as she liked.

"What is this?" she asked, horrified.

Blast. I'd hoped to avoid that conversation.

But there was nothing for it. She was waiting for an answer. "That is just my bed, dearest," I said as nonchalantly as I could manage.

I must have hoped that, if I was casual enough about it, she… might forget she was… looking at a coffin?

I am such and idiot sometimes.

How do I explain sleeping in a coffin to a reasonable person? It is an odd compulsion even to myself, and I am certainly not very reasonable most of the time.

Growing up, I spent a great deal of time in tight spaces. Whether my mother was angry, or we had visitors, or she just wanted to have time to herself… I was locked securely into attics, closets, even an empty hole she'd found under some rotted floorboards. There I would stay for hours—days if she forgot about me—until it suited her to retrieve me.

Sometimes I think she would have left me to die down there had she been strong enough to endure the guilt.

And she did feel guilt, of that I can be sure. Guilt for conceiving a monstrosity… guilt for not smothering me in my cradle… guilt for having considered it. Occasionally I feel sorry for the woman; bit by bit the guilt of my existence tore her apart. I wonder what kind of woman she was before… well… _me._

I suspect she was lovely.

One would expect that such a childhood would render me irreparably claustrophobic. Indeed the effect was quite the opposite—I _like _to be enclosed. It is safe for me, twisted as that sounds.

When I was small, those hours tucked away in my little hideaways were something of a reprieve. I didn't have to worry about beatings, insults, or impossible requests. I didn't have to stay in the presence of one who detested the sight of me but felt it necessary to keep me from some heinous act of troubled creativity. I imagine she thought I'd burn the house down if she turned her back on me.

I might have, too… even though I considered arson to be terribly inelegant and uncivilized even at that young age.

But I was free in my confinement. I sat their, worry free, thinking about the world. I prayed, I thought of new projects I'd like to try, I hummed the newly inspired must that constantly seemed to run about my head.

I imagined I was someone else… someone who liked to travel to all sorts of fantastic places… to explore all the wonderful things I'd read about in the brochures my mother tried to keep secret from me.

Some children have imaginary friends. I had imaginary _worlds_.

And I was… dare I say it?… happy.

Maybe that's why I never tried to escape, though Heaven knows I could have at any point.

I hope that makes a little sense… why a man would sleep in a coffin. It's not really so morbid if you look at it right… everyone should feel safe when they sleep, should they not? And it seemed dreadfully impractical to curl up in a closet every night. Doesn't a silk-padded coffin seem like a more comfortable alternative?

It is perverse, I know. But that's me. And I've never claimed to be anything to the contrary.

I never have shared that all with Christine. It seemed like too private a thing to speak about at the time, especially with her standing there in my bedroom.

It seems puzzling that I would share such a thing now without reservation, but that is what losing everything does to a man.

But that's not worth worrying about. Where was I? Oh yes...

Fumbling slightly from the awkwardness of the situation, I tried to make a joke.

"Well, we must get used to everything in life, mustn't me? Even eternity."

Not funny, apparently.

Suddenly I had the urge to grovel at her feet again. Sometimes I want to curse her for causing such a reaction in me… but I could never do that. Instead I curse myself.

We left that room in short order. Thank you Christine, for letting me keep my dignity.

Oh but then she had to go and ruin it, didn't she? Why must you ruin things, Christine? We were having such a nice day.

"You don't have to wear that mask, you know. If you let me go, you won't have to worry about me telling anyone who you are."

Well, she was wrong on a couple of fronts. The first being that I _did_ have to wear the mask. The second being that, if I knew anything about human nature, she'd be attempting to escape very soon and had every intention of telling the police who I was—even if I did have a normal face.

I am pretty sure I growled at her. It was a surprisingly animalistic sound, but she brings out some of my baser instincts—the kind that makes me want to feed her the best morsels from my own plate and then guard her with a sharp weapon as she sleeps at night.

But, whatever. I growled at her, that's what I'm getting at.

"You will not touch my mask and I will never let you go. As long as you understand these things, you will have nothing to fear from Erik."

I glared at her for a few more moments before I heard her meek voice whispering. "I think I'd like to go back to my room now."

It was only then that I realized how tightly my wretched, skeletal fingers were digging into her shoulders. I released her quickly and straightened up my spine.

"Perhaps that is for the best," I answered and motioned her to the stairs.


	21. Chapter 21

I thought we had made some progress that first day, but I think she was more frightened than ever. Angry too.

I like to think I know something about human emotions; the anger brought a clarity to her fear… that far off stare in her eyes changed… she was afraid, surely, but the initial shock had worn off. Like a deer who has been frozen in fear by approaching headlights only to be suddenly released. If ever that were the case, the animal's sole intent would be directed towards escape, right? Every other instinct and purpose would be swept to the sidelines until that moment when it found itself out of harm's way.

That was Christine.

Honestly, I felt mixed feelings about all of this. It was encouraging to see that the frantic look in her eyes had vanished. However the scheming determination that replaced it was disheartening.

I guess I was just disappointed by how badly she wanted to escape. I know it was asking for too much, too soon, but part of me hoped that she would realize all that she had here and learn to accept it. Everything I have done here has been for her… I knew that if she only gave it a chance, she would love it here.

And if she only gave_me_ a chance?

Well. There was plenty of time to ponder such things. Right now, I had some choices to make.

Christine would try to escape, that much was certain. It was futile, of course, but I kept remembering back to that equally futile band audition she'd had in the seventh grade. She said she just didn't want to regret not trying. I'd all but pushed the memory from my mind until then, when I actually took some time to ponder her words. I couldn't help but wonder if these two instances weren't similar.

Yes, Christine would try to escape because she would never be able to bear the knowledge that she never tried. Until she found a way to fight me, those impossible thoughts of freedom would be forever rampant through her mind, clouding her judgment.

Well, I certainly didn't want that. I knew that my darling girl was having a tough time of the last couple days. Perhaps I should help clear out some distractions.

Each time I left Christine in her room, I carefully locked the door. Special locks of my own design by the way, made especially for her. I would stand outside the door and listen for a moment or two… partly to see what she would do, partly because I was always loathe to leave her.

Each time she would sigh and wait about thirty seconds before testing the doorknob. She would sigh once more and slide down with her back to the door. Sometimes she cried, sometimes she was silent.

I wonder if Christine knows how predictable she is.

One morning—about four days since she had left her old life behind—she emerged from her room looking sunnier than usual. She had finally bathed, obviously having come to terms with the knowledge that I was not about to hurt her or otherwise come after her in the shower. Also, to my delight, she had done something about the bags under her eyes (don't ask me what… women have all sorts of secret cures for things…) and even put on a touch of makeup.

Christine is always beautiful, but today she looked… I don't know… comfortable? Adorable? That kind of soft, womanly look that makes me want to hold her so tight that she melds straight into me. Is that normal? Are men allowed to feel that way or am I just being creepy?

Ah well, there's nothing for it, I suppose.

If I had to guess, though, I'd say she looked almost… happy.

That is… unless you counted the smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Yes. Today was definitely the day.

"My, my, darling. You certainly look lovely this morning."

She tried to blush, if that makes any sense. She averted her eyes and let out a quiet breath but the pinkness that I've learned to accompany with her embarrassment never came. Christine knew exactly what she was doing and exactly what my reaction would be and was behaving accordingly. I don't know if that makes her a good actress or a very bad one.

Either way, I let her believe that she had fooled me and motioned her to the breakfast table.

"So what would you like to do today?" I asked her. I always asked her this in the morning. I wanted her to know how willing I was to give her anything she desired.

"Whatever you have planned is fine," she said.

That was an improvement. When I had first asked her, she just answered something about going home and then looked at me with this absolute sadness that broke my heart each time.

But I continued to ask anyway. A good husband always listens to what his wife wants.

I smiled, however, at her returning the favor and accepting whatever I wanted to do. It was false, but I would take it anyway.

"I wish for you to sing for me. Will you do that, Christine?"

Her mien suggested she would rather walk on hot coals but, still trying to fool me, she quickly replaced the expression with that incomplete smile that I have grown to despise.

"Of course," she answered.

----------

Our little singing session was brief. I knew our dynamic would have changed when I stopped being an angel and I didn't want to get too intense until she acclimated.

Gentle. Always gentle.

"You seem tired all of a sudden, Christine. Have I worn you out?"

"No, I'm fine… it's just… maybe the room's just a little stuffy, that's all. I could really use some fresh air."

"I understand. Let us retire to the library for a bit. Maybe we can go outside for a walk tonight if you're feeling up to it."

"I'd like that."

I led her into the library where I took a seat in my favorite chair and gestured to the nearest sofa for her to join me.

And don't think I missed the little shudder she made.

"Actually…" I still remember the way her feet shuffled and her eyes flicked longingly at the door. "I was hoping I could just take a book to my room with me. If you don't mind…"

I did mind. Very much so. But I wasn't about to tell her that.

"Of course, my dear. I will have lunch sent up to you and maybe you can take a short nap before dinner. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Yes!… Erik… um… I mean… that sounds fine."

"Very well," I extended my hand to her, cringing inwardly when she pretended not to notice it. "Please follow me."

This time, when I left her in her room, I did not wait to hear her test the doorknob. She would find it unlocked, you see, and I wanted to get a bit of a head start on her.

I mean… how inconvenient would it be if she actually succeeded? Of course I would find her—nobody can hide from Erik once he's set his mind to finding them—but I had a feeling she would not forgive me for kidnapping her a second time. Women are funny like that.

My home is in a lovely location; the driveway is at least a mile long and concealed from the highway by a thick layer of trees. Very secluded, very private, and very confusing to maneuver if you don't already know where you're going.

I strolled casually out into the trees, looking for an ideal place to hide. Eventually I found a tree that was shadowed enough, but provided a good view of the area. Unless Christine came up behind me, I would see her.

She certainly wasn't sneaky about the whole thing. That's alright. Deep down, Christine really isn't the devious type. That's my job. Another reason we're meant for each other—I am strong in the areas that she is not. See how we complete one another?

Anyway, she sprinted from the house, leaving the door wide open behind her. Even if I hadn't been expecting her defiance, I sure would have figured it out quickly. But then I would be panicked and angry instead of calm and controlled… and that wouldn't go over well for either of us. I try very hard to keep my temper in check around Christine. I'd hate to hurt her on accident.

So it is definitely for the best that Christine is no escape artist.

I let her run around in wide circles for awhile. I couldn't very well let her think I was waiting for her. Besides, I thought she deserved to feel she made at least a little progress.

After ten or fifteen minutes of hard running, Christine came to a stop. I'm assuming that meant she finally realized how lost she was.

Showtime.

"Christine…" I sang. She has such a musical name.

Her eyes got big with fright. Poor girl. Did she think I was going to hurt her or was she just afraid of me in general? When you come right down to it (which is something I try to do every once in a while), I guess it doesn't really matter either way. But that didn't stop me from wondering.

"Christine…" I called once again.

"S-stop! Leave me alone! Get out of my head!" she shrieked, covering her ears.

Ignoring her pleas, I called out to her a third time.

If I remember correctly, I think I threw my voice. Yes, that's right… I threw my voice in the opposite direction which practically sent her running straight into my arms. How convenient.

I stepped away from my tree in time to catch her as she tried to escape the phantom voice.

And, my! Did she ever fight!

"Get off me you psycho! Let me go!"

She kicked and screamed and tried to bite me as she flailed in my grasp. I let her keep at it for awhile, to let her wear herself out… and because it was fun.

I didn't want to be cruel, though, so I put a stop to it after a minute or two. I wrestled her into a more manageable position, but not before she got a good swipe at my neck with her nails.

Whew! That was close! It could have been my mask!

She continued to struggle, even though I had her arms twisted behind her. And the things she called me… I won't dishonor her by repeating them but, rest assured, they were words I never thought an innocent like Christine would know.

"Christine you need to calm down right now," I commanded.

She didn't.

_Fine. We'll do this the hard way. _

I rearranged quickly so that my arm was around her waist, pinning both arms down at her sides. With my free hand I removed the sedative I had in my jacket pocket.

With one hand I twisted open the bottle, forced her chin up, and poured the liquid into her mouth. The shock and discomfort caused her to cease struggling long enough for me to release my hold on her arms.

She choked, trying to spit the stuff out.

"No, Christine. None of that."

I held her mouth shut and massaged her throat, forcing her to swallow.

"That's it… drink it all… there's a good girl…"

I hadn't given her anything overly potent or dangerous. It was similar to a nighttime cough syrup, just stronger. Even still, I felt her start to calm in my arms.

I kept whispering to her, trying my best to sound soothing, though my heart was racing. "There, Christine… good girl…"

She turned around sharply and stumbled slightly so that I had to put my arms back around her waist.

Even in her growing haze, she frowned at me.

"I hate you!" she hissed with as much strength as she could muster.

I merely pulled her close into a bizarre sort of hug. I didn't hold Christine's words against her. She didn't mean them, after all. I knew she was just tired and angry.

"I know you do, darling," I said, "but it will not always be this way."

Then I took my bride home. Our little romp into the woods had been exhausting for her.

----------

Understandably, Christine was still asleep when suppertime came. I wasn't hungry either, so I retired early and spent the night reflecting in my room.

I wondered what today's adventure would bring for the future. Certainly today's events would change things between us.

Oh, but there's more…

When I said Christine had the only mirrors in the house, I lied. I hadn't thought to mention it until now, but I actually keep one behind some curtains in my closet. It's a twisted thing to do, but sometimes I need to look at myself… to be reminded, you know… as a punishment. Don't judge me. People have done worse things to themselves.

This time, though, it had another purpose. I carefully tilted the glass so I wouldn't see my face or mask, and examined the scratch marks Christine had left on my neck.

_Yes, they would scar_, I thought gleefully—though I rubbed in a bit of ash for good measure.

I smiled. I was ecstatic, actually. Christine touched me!

Regardless of what was to come, I would always be able to remember that Christine touched me of her own free will and I had a mark to prove it.

It had been a wonderful day, indeed.


	22. Chapter 22

The fire in Christine was spectacular.

During those weeks when she thought she hated me… my goodness, I don't think I'd seen her so alive in months.

It was almost enough for me to wonder why I didn't make her angry more often… mm… actually, scratch that… that's not the best idea I've ever had; though I liked the way she looked, I couldn't ignore the obvious sting of her resentment.

What an odd feeling to be so conflicted! I liked the passion—and the attention of having it directed towards me—but how desperately I wanted those things _without_ her being angry with me.

The morning after her escape attempt, I came to her door as if nothing was amiss. I didn't want her to think I was mad at her. I worried that she was sitting up there, wondering what I was going to do. I wanted her to know that I forgave her and loved her still.

But, apparently, my forgiveness was the last thing she cared about. No… my _love_ was the last thing she cared about, but forgiveness came in a close second.

"GET OUT OF HERE!" she screamed, calling me all sorts of colorful names and throwing at me everything within arms reach. "GO AWAY!"

"There is no need for unladylike language."

She threw a pen at me.

"Like hell there isn't!"

She threw a clock.

"Now, Christine, try to calm down…"

"Or what? You'll drug me again? You'll keep me locked up? You have already taken _everything _from me… what do you think you're going to do?"

She tried to throw a lamp at me, but the cord kept it from going anywhere. The frustration made her angrier.

That was cute, but I was in no mood to enjoy it because I felt myself getting frustrated as well.

Why couldn't she understand that all those things had been for _her_? Did she think it pleased me to force sedatives into her system? Did she think I _enjoyed_ locking her up? I wanted more than anything to give her the freedom of my home—to let her enjoy everything I so attentively prepared for her.

Oh how desperately I wanted for her to roam about without threats or coercion! How desperately I wanted her to act like a proper wife and stand beside me willingly! She didn't have to love me… just show me even a shred of the gentleness that she so freely gave to everyone else.

I wanted to trust her so badly it hurt…

But she continued on her tirade. "What the hell is wrong with you anyway? If you are going to rape me or murder me or something just do it already and get it over with!"

Well she certainly didn't mean _that_.

"You don't mean that."

"It doesn't matter! Stop playing these sick games with me!"

Now I was angry. Games? Was that what she thought this was to me? A sick game? How dare she! How dare she belittle the depth of my affection for her?

I am not a beast… I am not some sick creature who toys with innocent girls to cure his own boredom.

I love her! All of these things, I had done for love! She was everything to me… and she accused me of playing with her.

I felt my temper rising. I was furious with her callous remarks. Soon I would forgive her—it's impossible to stay mad at that woman—but right now I had to get out of there or I would do something I'd regret. I refused to hurt her.

I'm not sure how I sounded when I spoke next. Was I calm and quiet? Was I commanding?

I do remember the words, though.

"I assure you, _my dear_, that this is no game. This is very, very real. Perhaps you need some time to yourself to come to terms with that."

----------

I probably stormed out of the room after that. It's all a haze really… all I remember is the painful tension I felt all over.

I stayed under that shadow of infuriated half-awareness for longer than I should have.

At first I wrote music, which I then threw away. It was too… dark. And I am past that now.

So after a few pathetic attempts at composing, I decided to be an architect for a little while, figuring that was something I couldn't mess up. It's not like you can design an angry building, can you?

Whatever. What I was doing or not doing to pass the time is beside the point.

The significant part is that, when I finally emerged from my room, I was shocked to realize I had locked myself away for nearly three days.

My heart nearly stopped when I realized how long it had been.

I was used to losing myself into the oblivion of my emotions or surges of creativity. It wasn't unusual for me to lock myself away for a spell and ignore the world until I was finished with whatever it is I was doing. Five hours or five days… it's all the same when I am like this.

But no more! I couldn't afford to do that again. What was wrong with me? I had Christine to take care of now… I couldn't just disappear for days.

She was locked away in her room this entire time, I realized. I clawed at my hair in agony. She could have starved!

I practically sprinted up to her room, needing to see what damage I had done. It was unlikely I had killed her—as I hadn't eaten either during that time—but by the pain in my heart, I might as well have.

So, naturally, relief washed over me like a flood when I found out that Mrs. Bartlett had taken the girl's meals up to her.

Jean Bartlett is one of those scrupulously discreet and unquestionably obedient servants I've told you about. I'm fairly sure she was the only one aware of Christine's presence here, as she's the only one who spends time in the house on a regular basis and the only one allowed into the certain areas (such as bedrooms).

She has never challenged me on the nature of Christine's residence here and, if she disapproved, she would never let it show.

Anyway, I was pleased that she made notice of my… absence… and took it upon herself to see to Christine's welfare without so much as a word of question or complaint.

Poor Christine… how discouraging it must have been to see another presence, besides myself, only to realize that the woman would do absolutely nothing to aid her escape. Actually, I'd be surprised if she said a single word to Christine the whole time.

Where was I going with that? Oh, right. So anyway, my relief was short-lived however when I learned that, though Christine had been provided with meals on a regular basis, the stubborn girl had refused to eat more than a few bites.

It was either that or she was depressed and had lost most of her appetite. I couldn't be sure until I saw her for myself.

----------

Not depressed, apparently. Just angry.

I stood in the doorway for several minutes, hoping she'd say something. I'd been gone for three days, after all. Maybe she missed me… just a little?

She didn't speak though. She just glared at me, pillow clutched in front of her as if she needed some sort of barrier between us. Or she was getting ready to throw it at me… sometimes it's hard to tell with her.

Gracious! But she's beautiful when she's angry!

Still, her silence and her glare gave me mixed feelings. Why wasn't she talking to me? After all this time… she couldn't possibly still be mad, could she? Heaven knows I wasn't. And, if I could forgive her, it seems only fair that she would return the favor.

I might have been pleased to know that at least she wasn't afraid of me any longer—but her white knuckles and the slight trembling in her upper body gave her away.

What was she so afraid of, anyway? She said herself that there was nothing I could do to her.

"You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Do not lie to me, Christine, I know you too well for that."

"Oh, you do, don't you? That's right… because you've spied on me and deceived me for six years, I remember. You made me trust you and learned all my secrets all so you could kidnap me and keep me as your little pet… and what else have you been doing to me all those years, hmm? Stalking me? Listening in on my phone calls?"

_If only she knew…_

I sighed, suddenly feeling very weary.

"You still do not understand…" I said, talking more to myself than to her, but she picked up on it nonetheless. Excellent hearing on that girl, I tell you what.

"What is there to understand? That you are a psychotic madman? You are an evil maniac who took me away from my home and made my life a living hell! How long have you been planning this, anyway? Was it from the beginning? What is wrong with you?—I was only twelve years old! You make me sick."

Well, then I got angry again. Not _hide-away-in-the-music-room-for-three-days_ angry, thankfully, _just walk-away-and-cool-down_ angry.

Made her life a living hell, indeed! If it weren't for me, she wouldn't _have_ a life to speak of. She would have trudged her way through public school—her talent wasted—and sunk deeper and deeper into her depression. _If_ she managed to get through high school without doing herself irreparable harm, she would undoubtedly be crushed by the real world the second she was thrust into it, eighteen and completely unprepared.

At best she could look forward to a half-life of some dead-end job, an unappreciative husband, and no hope for the future. And at worst… well, I can't even go there in the hypothetical.

On top of that, the wretched girl had the nerve to accuse me of… ugh… I can't believe she thought I would… I don't even know where to begin with all the things wrong with _that _assumption. Make her sick? That would make _me _sick!

So, as I was saying, I was mad yet again. Frustrated, offended… whatever you want to call it. I knew Christine couldn't really mean all these horrid things she was saying, but I figured she might need some more time to think over things.

"I see you are still upset. Perhaps you need more time to clear your mind. Goodbye, my love."

I knew she'd apologize someday… and I'd forgive her. That is the way it has always been between us.


	23. Chapter 23

It just occurred to me that, as much as I have mentioned loving the passion in Christine's fury, I have done nothing but share the unpleasantness of my own frustrations. Surely you've noticed… I'm surprised you haven't mentioned it yet.

It wasn't always as bad as those first few days I described. We had our lighter moments… and memorable ones as well.

I remember one particular instance—Ha ha… it makes me chuckle just to think of it—several days into her isolation.

That isolation, I felt, was necessary. Thought it was torture for me, it was for her own good.

I left her locked in her room for what seemed like an eternity for me. Mrs. Bartlett continued to bring her meals, but instructed not to say a word to her and to leave as soon as her business was done.

This is going to sound horrible no matter how I say it, so try to take it how I mean it and not how it sounds. I wasn't angry with her any longer, but Christine needed to learn her place in this house.

She was mine. The world held nothing for her any longer. I would be her world.

There was nothing but Erik now.

But Erik could be enough. I could give her everything. But she had to learn to depend on me.

I've said it before, but I wanted so desperately for her to need me.

But she'd learn. It would only take time. I had expected all of this, by the way… I just didn't think it was going to hurt so much.

Even though I had not approached her since our last quarrel, I kept careful watch on her ever-present mood swings. One moment she was furious, the next she was crying by her window. Sometimes she'd just sit at her desk and write or think.

What worried me was the overall hopelessness that descended further upon her with each passing day.

I felt restless and tense as I sensed the progression. I almost wanted to beg Mrs. Bartlett to stop giving me progress reports… but I could not bring myself to do so for Christine's own safety. She was all that mattered; my discomfort had to be moved to the sidelines.

Naturally, my biggest concern in all of this was that she might hurt herself in her mounting depression. I remember her confessing as much years ago... when she was just a child and our lessons were still easy and light and we always had time to talk afterwards.

"_Where were you this weekend, Christine? I missed seeing you."_

"_Oh, Meg and I went home with Jamie for the weekend. Did you know… she has a pool that sits just by where her roof ends? Meg dared me and I jumped off the corner of the roof straight into the pool! She didn't think I would do it but I did."_

A lump formed in my throat and I felt my heart begin to race. She could have killed herself! I made a note to start following her more closely. I realized it was time for her angel to take a more active role in her safety.

"_Christine! What were you thinking? You could have been seriously hurt… you… you could have died doing something so foolish."_

To my horror, she merely shrugged.

"_That wouldn't be so bad, I suppose. I'd get to meet you for real and I would get to be with Daddy again."_

My chest constricted and I couldn't breathe. I have shrugged of a lot of horrific things in my life—the kind of things that would give a gentler person nightmares—but I had never before been so scared or distressed as I was in that moment.

I know she didn't admit to being actually suicidal, but her indifference was enough to throw me into a panic each time I saw a budding depression in her eyes.

So when I saw the dark shadow fall over her once again my mind went immediately back to that disturbing memory and all the old feelings came rushing back. I didn't know what to do. My only concern was for her safety.

I let her spend a few hours in the library, choosing books that she could take back to the room with her. Meanwhile, I removed the locks on her bathroom and closet doors and searched her room for potential weapons: scissors, letter openers… anything I thought she might harm herself with, I took away.

As expected, she was furious. But I figured it was a small price to pay, considering.

What I hadn't count on was how utterly resourceful my girl could be when she was angry.

You see, the very next day, when Mrs. Bartlett collected Christine's breakfast dishes, she called me into the kitchen. I was busy, but the urgency in her voice convinced me to come without protest. As soon as I arrived, she scuttled out of the room as if anticipating wrath of some kind.

I didn't know what to expect, since I never knew breakfast to cause such a ruckus, but what I encountered was so far from anything I had ever imagined…

Carefully lined up on her tray was an assortment of very odd things. Part of a light bulb, broken and razor sharp… a toothbrush, the end filed to a point… an assortment of seemingly benign chemicals and beauty products that could be harmful if ingested… and a jagged glass spear which appeared to have been fashioned out of her orange juice glass that very morning.

Together, these things might have appalled me, but the letter accompanying the arrangement was the most comical thing I had ever read.

_Erik-_

_Since scribbled notes seem to be your preferred method of communication, I thought I'd write to you in your own language. _

_As you can see,_sir_, if I trust wanted to hurt myself I would have done so already. Now kindly return my shaver lest I look like some sort of Amazon woman when I finally get out of this dreadful place._

_-C_

I laughed. I laughed so hard that I had to remove my mask and wipe my eyes.

Apparently my little wildcat had not lost her spunk after all. I had not killed her—that_life _that I loved so much about her was still burning strong.

She was still angry… still afraid… but her spirit encouraged me. Her alone time seemed to be slowly tearing down her defenses, but I was happy to know that it had not broken her.

Maybe, in a few more days, I'd come to her again and see if she was ready to give our relationship another shot.

Oh, but that was a letter for the collection if ever there was one!


	24. Chapter 24

The day I chose to end Christine's confinement to her room, I dismissed Mrs. Bartlett back to her regular duties and went back to preparing and delivering Christine's meals myself. I thought perhaps she ought to get used to seeing me again. Besides that, I wanted to gauge her reactions before deciding to let her out. After all, I couldn't very well have her coming after me with that shaver I returned.

Now, I am a man who is quite used to being alone. I can go weeks on end without speaking to another human being and come out none the worse for wear. However, there are not many people cut out for such a life.

Christine is a social person, though quiet. She is used to hugs and conversation and friends.

As I'd expected (isn't it lovely when things turn out the way you expect them to?), Christine's solitude had succeeded in melting away a bit of that harsh exterior she'd constructed. Suddenly she was much more receptive to my presence. Apparently even _my _company was preferable to no company at all.

Beyond all else, Christine hates to be alone. It was good to know that there was at least _one _thing she feared more than me.

"Good morning, my dear. I hope you slept well."

When I leaned over to set down her tray, she grabbed my wrist. I think I did a valiant job of concealing the jolt of elation that shot through me. This was the second time she touched me of her own free will. But even better than that, this time her touch was not meant to push me away.

I know I read too much into these sorts of things. But it's all I have.

"Don't go," she whispered. The pleading tone in her voice made me sympathetic and joyful at the same time. I wondered if I could live off that feeling instead of air. Pity it doesn't work that way.

"You… you don't have to leave so soon."

I was not at all surprised by her request, but that did not stop me from acting that way.

"But I thought you hated my company?" I asked innocently. Maybe it was mean to taunt her so, but at the time it seemed like a good idea. I should probably work on getting over my own bitterness. I'll add it to the list. "I thought you detested me."

She did not deny it, but I decided to overlook that. I like to think of myself as an optimist.

"Please… I'll sing… I'll… whatever you want. Just don't leave me alone in here any longer. I get it… you win. I just… I just can't stand it any longer."

I smirked like the perverse creature that I am. It's probably best she didn't see that. Anyway, I instructed her to eat her breakfast and meet me in the music room when she was finished.

She will never fully comprehend just how happy she makes me. I had truly missed our singing lessons.

--

I sensed her frustration with me as she sang. It had been awhile since she last sang and the neglect was evident in her voice. I fear I was harsher with her than I should have been. The dear girl is so very fragile sometimes.

"Come on, Christine! You are timid as a mouse… what is wrong with you today? You have no passion whatsoever. And, for heaven's sake, stand up straight!"

"How can you even ask that question? And I am standing straight!"

There was a long pause where we just glared at each other. I think I must have won because her shoulders sagged and she sighed.

"You are right. I'll try harder," she admitted.

Of course I want her obedience… but the look of defeat that comes with it upsets my stomach… and my head… and my heart… and… well, suffice it to say it's all around unsettling to me.

I want her to obey me because she wants to… like a proper wife should.

Oh do stop looking at me like that—it's not so terribly chauvinistic. One of us has to be in charge, after all, and I am the one looking out for her best interest.

Anyway, there was too much tension between us so I decided to conclude the day's lesson. I gave a quick glance at the clock. Goodness! Had we truly been at it for over three hours?

Yes, it was definitely time to wrap up. Besides, there were hundreds of things I still wanted to do with her.

--

After a quick lunch, we went to the library and read for a little while.

Well… she read. I pretended to read, all the while wondering how I could get her to put some of that _life_ I loved back into her music.

It was like an odd sort of game for me… keeping her alive. She is so hesitant… timid… you know? But it's heavenly whenever I can coax some of that fire out of her.

It occurred to me that I had neglected to share with her one of the primary purposes for her presence here—besides becoming my wife, of course, but I prudently decided to keep that to myself a little while longer.

How could I have forgotten? It's no wonder she was so confused!

"Christine, there was something I wished to talk to you about."

She tensed. Don't think I didn't notice.

"Yes?"

"I am sure you know… I know I have told you… you have an exquisite voice. You could take on the world… become greater than anyone who has come before you."

"Oh."

"I would be willing… if you wished it… I would share you with the world. If only I knew that you would not try to escape from me. If I could trust you to return… you could sing on stage again. You'd have the world at your feet… I would help you."

She gave me an odd look that made me shift uncomfortably. I have never been one to ramble, but she made me nervous. Like an idiot, I pressed on.

"That is… only if that was your dream. If you wanted, I would be equally content to have you sing for me alone. I do not have to share you with the world if you do not wish it. We could sing together always… your voice could be for my own pleasure. The choice is entirely yours… as long as you sing, that is what truly matters. I only want happiness for you, Christine."

I thought I was doing a good thing… offering her choices. I am not so terrible as to take control over her entire life. She can make her own decisions, and I wanted to convince her that I would give her that power. All that matters is that she is safe and happy… and that I can listen to her beautiful voice forever.

Her reaction was… unexpected.

She started to shake and… giggle, I suppose. But it wasn't at all pleasant.

Her laughter turned almost maniacal… the kind of thing you'd hear from an insane man who just killed a mass of people. Hmm. Sounds a bit like my laugh, come to think of it.

But it was dreadful coming from her.

After a moment of hysterics, she wiped a tear from her eye and glared at me. She was standing now… pacing a bit like a caged animal.

"You truly don't get it, do you?"

Apparently not. I was silent to avoid setting her off again. I feared she was like a firecracker that might explode at any moment. What happened to my gentle little Christine?

"I have _always _sung for you alone! Always. Even when there were a hundred people watching… it was only you… yours were the only ears I cared about."

Well, I was still a little unnerved by her tone, but her words delighted me. Ecstatic as I was, I moved toward her. If ever I wanted to hold her, now was the time.

She moved away from me, though, backing up with her hands in front of her.

"And then you had to… you had to go and…"

Her voice was a harsh whisper and her cheeks were wet. I continued to approach her. When her back came up against the wall, she started to pound at my chest with her clenched fists.

She kept with her angry words that came out almost like a hiss. What was she talking about? Something about betrayal or trust or some other such thing…

I don't know. I wasn't listening. I was too consumed with the hands that were striking me.

This was the third time she touched me! And twice in one day! How delightful.

When she finally exhausted herself, I realized how inappropriately close I was standing to her.

She looked up at me with desperate eyes. "Take me home now, Erik."

I nodded and escorted her back to her room.

She gave me the funniest of looks… almost as if this was not what she expected.

_I can't imagine why_, I thought as I clicked the lock in place.

This _was _her home now.


	25. Chapter 25

Everything has to end sometimes, I suppose. This odd relationship that we had, where she was furious and I was enjoying every minute of it, was probably not good for either of us. We needed purer soil if her love for me would grow as I wanted it to.

I only wish the change hadn't happened so abruptly.

Yes, of course she took my mask off. It was bound to happen eventually, Christine just can't leave well enough alone.

Deep down I knew I couldn't hide my face forever—still, I had pictured it all differently. Maybe someday, years after we married, I could sit her down and have a frank discussion. It would be in a controlled environment and I'd be able to manage her reaction accordingly.

But apparently I have much more patience than she does.

Ah, but aren't I getting ahead of myself? Perhaps I should back up a bit and tell you the story.

We'd just finished a particularly hard lesson. I had become quite intense with her since she came into my home. I just… I didn't want to risk the light fade out of her eyes as she sang. Her voice was so beautiful… I worked hard to keep us from going back to square one.

And so I pushed her… and pushed her… and pushed her. I purposely tried to make her angry, figuring that was the easiest way to force some passion out of her.

Apparently I pushed too hard.

Anyway, she was fuming by the time we were finished. I instructed her to go lie down on the couch and try to calm down. I would play something calming for her, maybe hypnotize her a little… whatever I needed to do to help her breathe normally again.

Yes, I felt bad. Not bad enough to apologize (it wouldn't have made a difference anyway), but regretful enough to want to make it up to her.

She settled down on the couch. "Hmm… now what shall I play?" I asked, trying to be friendly. I didn't really expect a response, but I got one anyway.

"Play something you have written. What about that book of music I saw in your room?"

She was referring to—by the way—my great opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_. It was my life's work. My only love and greatest obsession before _she_came into my life.

And I mean that, too! There were times when I'd lock myself away for days on end, scribbling away through bouts of seemingly endless inspiration.

Then I would shut it away for a time. But I always returned to it and it was always there waiting for me as if I had never left.

I was like the Prodigal Son and _Don Juan_ the forgiving father, patiently awaiting my return.

But I had neglected my opera for nearly six years now. Ever since Christine came into my life, I had not had the inspiration to write it. That is the measure of my affection for her—wicked thoughts flee my mind at the mere thought of her and I could no longer write.

Wicked thoughts were necessary, you see. For all its magnificence, _Don Juan_ was a dark, sinister work. Its harmonies seem to scroll through every emotion of human suffering, often at the same time. It is passionate, but too much so. _Don Juan _burns.

And my sweet angel wanted to listen to it.

I bristled, though I am not sure why. I suspect she was only trying to please me in her request.

Perhaps it was the implication that she wanted me to leave the room. Or that she was trying to manipulate me by telling me what she thought I wanted to hear.

More than likely, though, it was the reminder of all I had given up for a woman who could only despise me.

Not that I regret it! Make no mistake about that. I would do it again for so much as a minute of Christine's attention.

But… it hurt… you know? I just wanted her to love me so… so badly…

I counted to ten. "Never ask that of me, Christine," I said in as calm a voice as I could manage, "I will play your Mozart… or Beethoven. Anything you wish. Those will do no more than bring tears to your eyes. But_Don Juan_… it was never meant for human ears… especially ones as pure as yours."

I felt better once I'd explained. She seemed confused but accepting of my refusal. That was good. _Good, Christine._

However, when I told her again to lie down and relax, she quickly became irritated with me. Goodness… I do hope her emotions are not always so volatile. _No, dear, I believe incongruous behavior is my department. You'll just have to think of something else._

Mm… but she is lovely when she's in a snit.

"I most certainly will not lie down! I am tired of you ordering me about. Either we keep singing or I go back to my room."

I can refuse her nothing, that magnificent goddess of mine.

And I did read into the subtleties of her ultimatum. She still resented me. She could tolerate me if we were singing… but my company—my attempts at conversation, my loving gestures, my frequent glances—she want nothing to do with that.

But that didn't change the fact that I needed to prove to her who was in charge here. I had no intention of arguing every little point with her for the rest of our lives.

"If that is what you wish. How about the duet from _Otello_?"

She nodded and took her place beside the piano. Lucky for me (or so I thought), I had only one copy of music and so she had to move to stand closely beside me and look over my shoulder.

As we sang, I shut my eyes and enjoyed her nearness. I smiled. She smelled good.

I still curse myself for my inattention; at the height of the music, my body froze at the sudden flash of cold air across my face. My mask was off.

-------------

What happened next is still hazy. Her screams still echo in my memory, but the actual actions that followed are all but lost to me. Sort of like part of a tape that has been swiped with a magnet… it's there but it's not there at the same time.

When the curtain lifted, I was on my knees, sobbing into one hand and clutching my mask with the other. Christine was no where to be seen.

It was all… so very painful.

But let's not talk about that.

After a time, I composed myself enough to stand up and assess the damage… trying so desperately to make sense of it all.

There was blood everywhere, which just about sent me into a panic since I couldn't remember what happened. _If I had hurt Christine…_

Ah. But there's no need to dwell on 'what ifs'. As it was, I sustained most of the damage.

Deep, crescent shaped wounds littered my jaw and hairline. _Well that explains the blood_, I thought, relieved. Head and facial wounds bleed something fierce.

Christine had probably given them to me, though I couldn't realistically see her attacking me in earnest, no matter how angry or frightened. Several strands of hair loosely woven between my fingers confirmed my suspicion.

_Definitely my fault_, I decided. I am not sure if I truly want to know exactly how I forced her to give me those cuts. I have my suspicions, but I think knowing the truth would just upset me.

Anyway, I unwound the strands of hair and put them in a tiny jar in my closet. If you have to ask why, we might as well end this conversation right now.

Then I went into the washroom to clean up. I took extra care washing and rubbing antibiotic cream into the wounds—these were definitely not scars I wanted to keep—and changed my shirt. I threw the old one in the trash. I suppose I could have been able to wash the blood out if I tried… I just didn't want the reminder.

As I passed through my bedroom, my fingers swiped against the pages of _Don Juan Triumphant_. I looked down and caressed the cover.

In my agony I realized that it was high time I visited my old friend again.


	26. Chapter 26

I'm not sure how long I worked on my opera before Christine interrupted me. I am assuming too much time hadn't gone by, as she was still wearing the clothes she had on earlier.

When I heard the door open, I stopped playing. I didn't turn around, though. I dared not look at her. I couldn't bear the look of revulsion I knew I would find in her eyes.

Have I explained yet? You know… what is… behind the mask? Of course I will not show you! The sight of it would cause the most violent of nightmares. What kind of sick person would voluntarily bring that upon themselves?

Christine was different. She had no way of knowing… no way of suspecting the extent of the… horror… that met her.

Perhaps you think me melodramatic about all this. I assure you, that I am not.

Picture the ugliest, most sallow and emaciated person you know. Now picture him after he's been dead for five or six years. That's pretty much the image Christine was confronted with when the mask came off.

I was so ashamed… at both my face and my actions. And I was depressed at having lost my only chance at winning her love.

I even wondered what she was doing here. If I were in her position, I'd be hiding in a corner about now.

Well… maybe not if _I _was in her position. I probably would have done something violent. What I mean to say is that a _rational _person would be hiding in a corner about now.

Perhaps she was going to ask to leave me again.

Well, I knew for sure that wasn't going to happen. _Especially after all this._

A red flash of light came to me as I recalled a tiny portion of our altercation.

"_How does it feel, Christine? To know that it is a corpse who loves you and will never, _ever_ leave you? You see… if you had only left things alone… Curious, foolish girl… you might have thought me handsome. Maybe you would have returned to Erik. But no more!"_

"_Erik! Please… stop this!"_

"_Whatever do you mean, my _dear_? Is this not what you wanted? The woman who sees Erik's face… she loves him forever! You can never leave, Christine. You will never escape Erik."_

I used to wonder why I slip into the third person sometimes. I sort of understand now. As I watched the scene in my mind, it was like watching a movie. I could see myself hovering over Christine… but not through my eyes. It was almost as if I was another person in the room, witnessing what happened from a detached perspective.

Perhaps it's my troubled brain's way of protecting me from all the horrible things I've done. Anyway, it was a thought I tucked away to ponder later.

But Christine… I didn't blame her, exactly, but a part of me wanted her to blame herself. From the beginning, I knew I would never let her leave me. And yet… I wanted her to believe that she might have had a chance someday but that _she _ruined it with her betrayal.

It was sick, I know. But I had the twisted notion that, if she was angry with herself, she might not hate me as much. Heaven knows I hated me enough for the both of us.

"Erik…" she pleaded ever so softly.

I stood… because she is a lady… and because, despite all evidence to the contrary, I am a gentleman. A gentleman stands when a lady enters the room. I respect her… I truly do. But I still could not bring myself to look at her.

"I'm sorry for what I did."

_Yes I am sure you are sorry for what you _saw

Suddenly I was confronted with the image of myself, gripping her hands with mine, forcing her nails into my skin and daring her to remove my other mask… the death's head that is my true face.

I turned around slowly. She had bruises on her wrists. I cursed myself. I swear… I never meant to frighten her… and I certainly never intended to hurt her. But I was so very afraid, myself. Her screams… oh how they still haunt me. I was so exposed… so very vulnerable… she had stolen my most precious secret… and then she shrieked in terror.

And so, like a threatened animal, I turned my fear to anger and lashed out. Oh poor Christine! She could never have imagined the beast that her thoughtless action unleashed.

_But I had hurt her… my beloved… my sweet girl who meant more to me than anything. I had sworn always to protect her… and then… then I…_

I almost wept, but I restrained myself so that I might here the words she spoke next.

"Do not hide your face from me any longer!" she cried suddenly. "I do not fear it. If ever I tremble in your presence… it is… it is only because I am in awe of your great genius!"

Hm. That was… unexpected.

What an odd thing to say! That… doesn't even make any sense. Christine is a horrible liar.

At least her intentions were good… I think.

At any rate, it was the notion that she might have forgiven me that set me into a repentant frenzy. I was upon her quicker than I ever thought possible. I threw myself at her feet and wept like a child. I bunched the bottom of her long skirt in my hand and pressed my twisted lips to the material. I would not dare to kiss her skin as I wanted to, you see. I wrapped one arm behind her knees to steady her. Luckily, she had the wall to lean on or I likely would have knocked the poor girl over in my ardor.

She seemed to take my desperation in stride.

I don't know if she looked at me at all, or if she was pretending she was somewhere else… or if she was repulsed by my actions, which were so reminiscent of that first night. I do remember, with absolute clarity, the delirium of joy that filled my ruined heart the moment I felt her rest her hand gently on the top of my head.

I knew she did not love me. I still could not trust her. And I didn't know if we would ever look at each other the same way again. Her betrayal stung more than I could ever describe. I wondered if I would ever again see her as the pure, flawless girl I had known or if I would only see the cruel woman who so heartlessly ripped away my only defense.

Her apology mattered to me greatly… even if it was a lie. I knew she would never again see me as a man. From now on, every time she looked at me she would see in her mind the horrible monstrosity that lay behind the mask.

But still… the fact that she had come back… the fact that she even spoke to me… it gave me the barest shred of hope… that alone might keep me sane.

All of these things… there was so much to consider.

Too much.

So, at that moment, I shut my mind down. I would worry later, I decided. Right now it was just Christine and me. She had the grace to pity the man who adored her so and I soaked up and relished every moment of it.

_Please, Christine… please let me love you. I promise to be good. I promise. _


	27. Chapter 27

Our relationship was different after that day. Christine returned to the quiet, shy girl I remembered. She was distant, yes, but she seemed willing to please me when I asked something of her.

And I… I was foolish to think I would resent her for taking my mask. The opposite was true, actually. When I was convinced how she had forgiven me… I loved her all the more for it.

And she did go out of her way to prove that she had forgiven me. She burned my mask… or would have if I had not stopped her. I hope I didn't hurt her feelings. Her intentions were good… but that mask was one of my favorites. I doubt many people know just how difficult it is to find a comfortable mask.

She insisted the only fair compromise would be for me to leave it off in her presence. Sometimes I conceded and sometimes I did not. Old habits die hard, you see. And I still wasn't convinced that she could look at me without becoming scared… or sick… or some other unpleasant thing.

She's a good girl for trying, though.

Yes, I knew most of her assurances were not the truth. I knew that, at best, she was motivated by pity. At worst, she was trying to manipulate me… but I refuse to think of this.

Haven't you noticed how I treasure even the most bitter of Christine's attentions? If pity was all Christine had to give me, I would take it gratefully.

I was pathetic back then, but understandably so. I was like a man in the desert, dying of thirst, who comes upon a well. It doesn't matter if that well is full of wine or water or poison… he drinks it up greedily and in great gulps, thanking the Lord for each precious sip.

I spent every free moment watching her. When I felt brave, I'd try to catch her eye in hopes that she might smile at me. Sometimes she did, however slight. Other times she'd look ever so slightly disturbed and turn away, pretending she hadn't noticed me. She might have gotten away with it, too, had I not been acquainted with her every reaction—Christine is a very good actress, after all. But, as I said, I spent every free moment watching her.

The time spent singing was by far my favorite. Not only because I was graced with her lovely voice, but also because I could stare at her with impunity. I was her teacher, you see. It was only natural that I should have to watch her. You know, in case she… slouched… or something.

I had originally thought to give her space—she had made it so perfectly clear that she needed it… and that was _before_ she took my mask. I could only assume the desire would only be intensified now—But I found that I could not do it. Wanted to. Tried to. Couldn't do it.

As soon as I learned that she would suffer my company without complaint, I took advantage of the fact. I was afraid that one day she would wake up and decide she'd rather stay locked up in her room than with me. In the meantime, I wanted to get as much time in with her as I absolutely could.

There were an awful lot of things I was afraid of, come to think of it. Fear was a big part of my life in those days. I dare say that, most of the time, I was more afraid than she was.

You know that old story about the boy who went to challenge the philosopher, saying "I have a bird in my hand… can you tell me if it is alive or dead?" to which the philosopher replied, "Well, that depends on what you do with it."

With the hapless bird trapped in the boy's fist, he alone had the power to crush it or let it live.

Oh how I envied that bird!

You see… the boy… he could crush it with his hand and kill it. Then the bird would be no more and the story would be over.

But Christine… Christine had the power to crush me again and again. I would go on living… go on loving her… but with each day she had a renewed power to kill me anew. How much can a heart break before it gives up? I had a feeling that sheer desperation would keep it pumping for eternity, returning to her again and again in hopes that someday it might find happiness.

Do you see? I was trapped. I was completely, irrevocably hers.

It's a terrifying thing to be so helpless, let me tell you. Christine thinks she understands, but she could never truly sympathize… not in the same way. I sense that she pitied herself for being under my care. In truth, though… she held all the power.

The concept of having another under your authority whilst she has all the control is a strange one, indeed. It's a hard thing to understand unless you've been there yourself.

Christine would learn all that someday, and learn how to use it to her advantage. But that comes later. For now, she was too wrapped up in anger and self pity over her captivity to know any better.

Forgive me... I hadn't meant to get so reflective on you! I am supposed to be telling a story, right? You really shouldn't let me get off track like that.

Anyway, as I was saying before my little detour—I had chosen to keep Christine near me as much as possible. I allowed her to move freely about the house—within reason, that is (there were several rooms I couldn't risk her stumbling into for either privacy or safety reasons). And hoped that she'd spend a little of that time with me, which she did surprisingly often.

On the chance she wanted a little private time, though, I even provided her with her own key to her room. Keys and locks mean nothing to me, of course, but she had no way of knowing that so I figured it might make her feel a little safer. As with most things, it served a dual purpose since, the more secure she felt, the more time she was willing to spend with me. She hardly ever cried anymore and I didn't notice her hiding in corners nearly as often.

She did have the strange habit of huddling by the window in her bedroom. She had a lovely window, by the way, that overlooked a garden I had designed just for her. Hers was the only bedroom in the 'normal' part of the house, as I knew from the beginning that she wouldn't appreciate the basement as much as I did.

But anyway, it always bothered me to see her looking outward with such longing. I wanted her to look at me like that, confound it!

I decided it must be time for a trip outside.


	28. Chapter 28

Our outing went well enough, depending how you look at it. 

The spark in her eye when I first asked her to accompany me was heavenly. It made me wonder why on earth I hadn't asked her sooner. 

I don't know why I was so nervous about it… I mean, it's not like I could honestly expect her to refuse. She'd been cooped up in the house for some time now and I could only imagine how eager she was for some fresh air. But, still, she was not always the most predictable of girls (are they all so emotional?) and the slight possibility of rejection had my stomach in knots. 

I suspect it felt something like when a boy asks a girl out on a date for the first time. I'm only guessing, though, as I haven't exactly done much dating in my life. 

Anyway, I resisted the urge to wipe my sweating palms on my pant legs, took a deep breath, and asked if she might be amiable to a walk outside this evening. Then I shut my eyes tight and waited for her to yell at me.

"Yes…" she breathed. Speaking of breathing, I hadn't been doing that. I decided to start again before I passed out and embarrassed myself. 

"You will? Yes, I mean… if that is acceptable to you, I shall come to collect you after supper."

I smiled. I was grateful for the mask… somehow I can't imagine that the sight of me grinning like a maniac would reassure the poor girl in any way. 

----------

I was being ridiculous and I knew it. I must have stared at her door for twenty minutes, occasionally touching the handle and then deciding against it and jerking back. 

I took three deep breaths and counted to ten. I ran my fingers over the triplet scars she had left on my neck, an act that had already become a nervous habit for me to do that when I am distressed. 

Ah-ha! Did you see? I am doing it even now! I scarcely notice it anymore. 

I almost turned the handle again when it occurred to me that to do so would only send me barreling into the room with far less grace than I would like Christine to associate me with. 

Then it hit me: what kind of artless rube goes crashing into young ladies' rooms when he wants her attention? What happened to my manners? 

Now that _is_ the question, isn't it? What happened to my manners? What happened to my intellect… my confidence… my sophistication? 

Ugliness aside, I am not some simpering fool who cowers in corners, waiting for life to run him over. I am confident to the point of arrogance. I have superior intelligence, talents… not to mention power beyond which the ordinary man can fathom. I've always wondered if it wasn't all just some heavenly apology… an attempt to make up for the face someone forgot to give me. 

But… when Christine is around… it is like all my redeeming characteristics fly straight out the window. All that is left is this hideous creature with nothing to offer besides his undying love. How pathetic. It's no wonder she hates me. 

Hmm. Better to knock, I should think.

I closed my eyes, gave my scar another pass under my fingertips, and rapped my knuckles on the door. I didn't open my eyes again until she greeted me.

The sight of her was resplendent. She was wearing simple jeans and a sweater that made me just want to run up and bury my face in her shoulder. 

She probably wouldn't have reacted well to that. Instead I offered her my hand, flinched when she didn't take it, and gestured her out the door. 

----------

The car ride was pleasant, in my opinion, but Christine's apprehension was nearly palpable. I had not blindfolded her this time and she all but glued her face to the window, trying to take in every last detail of her surroundings. 

The thought that she still held hopes of escape disturbed me, but I decided to push those things from my mind. We were on a date, after all. 

She took a long breath and smiled as we stepped out of the car. I've never exactly understood some people's affection for fresh air (air is air, right?), but it pleased me to see her happy. Sensing she might want to stretch her legs after our drive, I decided to walk with her a bit before taking her to the picnic spot I had chosen for us. 

Looking back, I can see how those might have been some of my fondest moments. Never had Christine and I been so at ease with each other—at least, not since she knew me as something other than an angel. When we spoke, it was of lighthearted matters. I pointed out certain plants, told her about which flowers would bloom soon, shared with her basic knowledge of relatively unimportant things. It was lovely. 

At some point, she shivered. Instantly concerned, I suggested that we might head back home. The poor girl all but jumped out of her skin in panic over the prospect and assured me again and again that she was fine. 

In the back of my mind, I had known it would be chilly that evening. I probably should have cautioned her to bring a coat. The fact that I had not done so is either due to simple forgetfulness or my subconscious trying to live out a fantasy where I offered her my own. Deciding not to dwell on it, I shrugged off my coat and draped it over her shoulders. She looked at me gratefully and tugged it closer. 

Oh, how happy that simple act made me! 

Besides the irresistible light that draws me, Christine has another quality that causes males to become instantly enamored with her. How do I explain it exactly? Something about Christine makes you just feel like a man. Something about her sweet, trusting disposition and sense of gratitude for the littlest things makes a man long to protect her and, even more importantly, makes him feel as if he truly has the power to do so. 

This is the true reason gentlemen are attracted to her. She is beautiful, but not in the popular sense in that she would never be a model. She is smart, but not extraordinarily so. There is nothing about her that would stand out in a crowd except her voice. And yet, she has an even greater power that seizes a man's attention and holds it. She makes a man feel strong and capable and respected and… well… say what you like about equality and women's rights, but I guarantee you there is not a man on earth who doesn't want to feel like that.

I think about this sometimes. Every time I see a woman belittle her husband or a man embarrass his wife I think about the look on Christine's face that makes me feel like I can move mountains. 

I have tried to steal those looks so often that to have one graced upon me freely almost brought me to my knees. 

----------

Our walk ended when we reached the place I had prepared for us. She sat down on the blanket while I opened the picnic basket that had been waiting for us. We'd both already eaten separately (because that is a sight I_never _want to subject her to) but the small basket was packed with a bottle of wine and several of Christine's favorite desserts.

While I had done most of the talking on the walk down, she began to share her own thoughts with me once we were settled down. Just simple little anecdotes about the various adventures she and her father embarked on together. She relaxes when she thinks of him. The only thing that keeps me from being jealous of a dead man is the fact that I am the one who benefits when she lowers her guard like this. 

"…and every night he would come in and pull out all the drawers in my closet, just to show me there were no monsters in there."

I chuckled, picturing a six-year-old Christine glaring warily at the big bad closet. She laughed a little too, which surprised and pleased me at the same time. 

"It's silly, I know. Especially now that I'm grown and have different insights into such things. We were both just so broken up after my mother died, you know? But even through all that… he still knew how to make me feel like nothing bad in the world would ever touch me."

"It won't, Christine. I… I know I'm not really an angel… your father may not have sent me but that doesn't change the fact that I love you with all my heart and I will _never_ let anything harm you again."

She sobered instantly; I could almost hear the nails hammering as her walls snapped back into place. I should have known better… I knew she wasn't ready for me to bring up such a touchy subject. These promises… the assurances I had for her were so hard to keep to myself sometimes. It's not as if I expected her to throw herself into my arms… but sometimes I wished she could try to see my heart for what it was. 

"Perhaps we should go home now," I suggested. 

"No! No… please… Erik. Just a little longer?"

I cannot refuse her, not when she looks at me that way. "If you wish, darling, a few more minutes."

We went back to our own thoughts until my attention was captured by the sound of voices. I stood up, torn between needing to see what was going on and not wanting to let Christine out of my sight. 

Blast. If only I could trust her!

"Stand up, Christine."

"Do not make a sound. We are going home now… but, if you scream, you will regret it. Do you understand?"

She nodded. Since it was dark and I had no flashlight, I offered her my arm. Stubborn as she is, even she would have to admit that she couldn't maneuver her way around her without me. I patiently waited for her to realize that touching me was preferable to skinned knees and twisted ankles (because then I'd have to carry her which would defeat the whole purpose now, wouldn't it?). I watched her eyes dart around as if looking for an alternative and heard her sigh when she found none. 

Just as she reached out her arm to take mine, we were both startled by a voice that sounded much too familiar for my comfort. We must have realized it at the same time; her eyes widened even as mine narrowed. 

"Lay off, you guys! I'm not interested. I don't know why you even had to drag me out here with you anyway."

"Yea, lay off him you guys… can't you see the pansy is still pining for the girlfriend who left him?"

"She was not my girlfriend!"

"Well that makes it better, doesn't it boys? Here we are, far more sober than I'd like to be, and all because spoilsport over there is too busy mooning after his _un_girlfriend to buy us the beer! What's up man? You used to be so cool!"

"Raoul!" Christine cried. It was more of a gasp of surprise than a shout, but the boy heard it anyway. 

"Christine?"

Damn.

I closed the few inches between us and took a tight hold on her wrist. 

"Not a word, Christine!" I hissed, pulling her along. 

I wonder what was going through her head. She obeyed my order, not uttering another sound as I practically dragged her out of the woods. That, in itself, might have surprised me if I wasn't so distracted by the situation. The boy was gaining on us at a greater speed than I was comfortable with.

I had just begun to wonder if I would have to kill him in front of Christine and all those witnesses, when one of the drunken scamps running alongside him accidentally tripped and knocked them both over—much to the amusement of the rest of Chagny's companions. 

I got one final chance to smirk at the boy's despairing face before I shut the door and our car sped away. 

----------

"One would think that a man of his station would surround himself with better company. Wouldn't you agree, my dear?"

"Erik, I—"

"Now, now, darling… there's no need to explain. This isn't your fault, after all. You are mine, though, Christine… do you know this?" My voice was as soothing as possible; I tried not to let onto the fact that my heart was hammering in anticipation to her answer.

"Of course…"

"And I know it too. That is all that matters. Mr. de Chagny will just have to learn to accept it and move on. Shh… don't cry, sweet. I wouldn't ever let him separate us."

"I… I know…"

"I am only sorry he had to go and ruin our perfect evening. Perhaps we will have to go out again soon, do you think?"

"Okay."

We were quiet after that—the only sound in the car my ragged breathing and Christine's occasional sob—as we both calmed down and reflected. 

My thoughts were unfocused and frantic as I watched her from the corner of my eye. Things could not remain as they were. She obviously still had feelings of sorts for the young man and that changed the game slightly. 

I shook my head and turned my gaze toward her fully. The poor girl. I had intended to give her more time to adjust, but it appeared that I would have to speed things along a bit. 


	29. Chapter 29

My wedding day was the happiest and most discouraging day of my life, if that makes any sense. If you can imagine falling in love and having your heart broken in the exact same moment… it was a bit like that.

The morning after our little encounter in the woods, I left a light breakfast of fruit and toast on Christine's nightstand for when she woke up. 

I'd thought to leave a rose as well, but I remembered how she dislikes cut flowers. Instead I gave her the little crystal hummingbird she'd liked so much when I was first showing her our home. Underneath it, I left a note.

_To the love of my life:_

_There is a dress in the very back of your closet—it is the one in the red garment bag. Please put it on and meet me downstairs. _

_Obediently yours,_

_Erik_

Short. Simple. Just how I like it. 

The dress had always been there—it's not like I wanted to hide my intent—but she had not mentioned it previously so I assumed she had either not found it or not known what it was. 

The latter is quite possible, now that I think of it. Her wedding dress was simple and… summer-y… as it was nearly July. It was white, of course, but now that I think of it, there was nothing else about it that might have screamed 'wedding dress'. 

Hmm. Now that's a thought I hadn't considered. I suppose that explains her surprise, now doesn't it?

I must have waited for seven hours. I couldn't sleep the night before so I unsuccessfully read, composed, drew, and studied my business calendar before I finally gave up and started pacing the hallway. 

It was all worth it, though, when she finally descended the stairs. 

Oh, she was glorious! The basement was dark, as usual, but she carried her own light with her. I was certain she carried a piece of the sun wherever she went.

Mm… you know… maybe you shouldn't take these things too literally. I can never remember which parts I am making up. 

"Come along, my dear," I said as calmly as I could manage. Politeness dictated I probably should have given her a compliment, but at the time, all my energy was concentrating on keeping me standing. My, how she was lovely!

Anyway, I took her down a passageway that led into a garden. It wasn't the same garden as the one outside her window… this one was much more elegant. It was designed long ago, specifically for our wedding. 

I extended my arm once again to escort her and got the same funny look I always got. But, now was not the time for such games.

"I really must insist this time, my dear." 

She hesitantly took it and I walked her through a maze of tall hedges. It really wasn't as big and grand as it sounds, but I am a master of illusion, so she never knew the difference. 

"What is all this?" she asked. I think in ordinary circumstances she would have been awed, but right now she just sounded skeptical. I didn't answer, but I did pat her hand in what I hope was a reassuring gesture. 

I stopped and picked a lovely, blue flower and secured it in her hair. It was just what she needed and brought out her just-blue eyes nicely. She looked distinctly uncomfortable, but I did notice how she closed her eyes briefly when I stroked her hair. Apparently that was a sensitive place for her. I filed that away for future reference. 

At the end of the path, there was a minister waiting. Unbelievably, he'd been happy to oblige even before I tried to bribe him. It was touching, actually, as I expected problems based on my mask and requirement of secrecy. I tripled the bribe money I would have offered and made an anonymous donation to his church. 

I wonder how it might have changed matters if he knew that I had no idea whether or not my bride was a willing one. But I suppose that's all irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. 

"Do you like it, darling?" I really wanted to know. I'd worked very hard to make this special for her. 

"What is going on, Erik?" she asked again. I didn't like her tone. It was… well… angry isn't quite the right word. It was more like she was warning me. Either way, it was irritating and inappropriate to the occasion. 

"What does it look like, Christine?" I whispered harshly, hoping the minister wouldn't hear me over the music playing through the hidden speakers. "It is our wedding. Now be a good little girl and be quiet. It is about to begin."

She looked about to speak but I glared at her and she shut her mouth, looking chastised and afraid at the same time—like a dog that has been beaten. How I hate that look!

I snapped out of my bitter thoughts and tried to calm down as the official began to speak. It wouldn't do to ruin this day, of all days, with my temper. 

I held both of her hands tightly in mine—ignoring the way she was trying to surreptitiously pull away without drawing attention to herself—as I said my vows. Tears stung my eyes as I spoke; I meant every word with all of my heart and I tried to convey as much through my voice. I don't know how Christine took it, but the minister was nearly hypnotized. 

But it was when Christine's turn came up that I was truly nervous. Her eyes were darting around again, like they did in the woods when she was looking for a place to run. I tightened my grip on her… though I loosened it immediately when I saw her wince. I hated us both right then. 

The minister waited for her to repeat the words, but she said nothing. She was crying freely now. 

"Hush, sweet. There is no reason to be nervous… this is our special day remember?" I said, though my gentle words contradicted the glare I was giving her. 

"_You _will_ do this, Christine!" _I added, throwing my voice to land just beside her ear so only she could hear.

The old minister smiled kindly, well acquainted with the tears of nervous brides and the panicked sweating of equally anxious grooms. _If only he knew!_

I watched as Christine visibly tried to control her breathing and finally choked out the words she was prompted to say. I didn't soften my hold or the look I was giving her until she concluded. 

Though I had to release her hands to fetch the rings, my eyes never left her. I was conflicted… it was like I was daring her to move and pleading with her not to all at once. I don't know which expression, if any, came out past the mask, but she stayed… which, I suppose, is the important part. 

At the end of the ceremony, the minister bid me to kiss my bride. In my mind, I had envisioned burying my hands in her hair and giving her a kiss so long and passionate that it left her breathless and glassy-eyed. When the time came, though, I couldn't do it. I was afraid. If I kissed her lips and she didn't respond… I… well… I just couldn't take that kind of rejection. Instead I tilted back her head and placed the lightest of kisses on her forehead.

Let it be known, though, that there was no less love and tenderness in that kiss than there was in the one I had imagined. 

After I thanked the minister, I tugged Christine along, insisting on taking a leisurely stroll through the garden with my wife. 

I watched her from the corner of my eye. She had stopped crying, but she was very pale. That was almost hard to notice, by the way, since she is naturally very fair. I am too, actually, but in an entirely different way. She is pale like a china doll is pale. I am pale like a… vampire, I suppose. 

Suddenly the strangest of thoughts occurred to me.

"I wanted to tell you…" I said hesitantly, not quite sure how to phrase it, "I'm not _actually _dead, you know."

It was an odd confession to make, I am well aware of that thank you very much. It's just that, after all the things that had happened to her and considering my death's head of a face and the fact that I shouted at her about being a corpse who was in love with her… well, I just didn't want her to think she was in the middle of some bad horror film—marrying a monster and all. 

It was all so very natural for me… I had forgotten that she might not know what to make of such a… surreal sort of life. That is understandable, right? I like to hope so.

Even through her puffy eyes and sniffling, she looked at me like she was about to laugh. Not sure what that meant, I rambled on.

"It's just that… I know what I said _that night_… you know… in the music room. And I know how I look. But… I wanted you to know that… despite all that… you see, I was born this way…"

She put up her hand to silence me, which I did gratefully. 

"I understand."

I nodded and exhaled and thus concluded one of the most peculiar conversations in the history of mankind. 

We both continued our silent reflection—Christine weeping off and on, and I vacillating between joy and self-loathing. 

After a fashion, I allowed the maze to take us back to the house. As much as I enjoyed her company, I finally relented to the sensation that Christine wanted time to herself. I was just about to dismiss her to her room when I heard the sound of someone clearing their throat.

I looked up from my bride long enough to recognize Nadir, standing in the doorway, looking as if he was ready to kill something. 


	30. Chapter 30

My black moods tend to project themselves onto the rest of the world. When I am upset, I like everyone to know it. For some reason, it makes me feel better to know that everyone is walking on eggshells for me.

But not Nadir. That man internalizes everything, which I suspect, is why he already has so many white hairs. That is why I was certainly surprised to see him standing in my doorway, looking positively murderous.

So, what did I do? I provoked him further, of course.

"Good afternoon, my friend. What brings you on this unexpected visit? Have you come to congratulate me on my recent nuptials? Then again, I haven't the foggiest idea how you would know of such a thing…"

"What have you done, Erik?" he bit out. I noticed a muscle tick in his temple, much to my glee, but I sensed this _conversation _had the potential to escalate very quickly into something I had no intention of exposing Christine to.

I drew my bride close and whispered in a deliberately soothing voice, "Go up to your room, dearest. I shall meet you there shortly." Her widening eyes and sharp intake of breath made me wonder if she didn't misunderstand the implication of that order, but she quickly left the room anyway.

I turned my attention back to my seething companion. "Now, Nadir, how may I help you?"

"You can start by telling me who _she _is and what the hell is going on here?"

"Oh, you mean Christine? She is my wife and we were taking a walk… not that it's any of your business."

"Enough games! You know exactly what I am asking and I demand an explanation."

I bristled. I never did take orders well, but since that stint in the Middle East, I have been especially offended by such threatening behavior. I did not have to justify myself to him. I told him so, too.

And you can imagine how well he took _that._ We argued heatedly for a while. Curses, death threats, the whole lot… it was all second nature between the two of us now. Eventually I offered him a drink and we discussed the situation much more civilly.

The entire exchange lasted a couple of hours so, for the sake of brevity, I'll do my best to summarize.

I explained that I had been Christine's music teacher while she was in school and that we had fallen in love and I had brought her here to my place so that we might be married in peace. Simple as that. Nothing dark and sinister about it.

I could tell that he didn't believe me, but there's nothing new there.

I, on the other hand, had not choice but to believe him. That man is infuriatingly honest.

Apparently the Chagny boy had run to the police last night, insisting that his _girlfriend_ had been kidnapped. When they asked if he had any proof, the idiot had nothing to say except that he had seen her in the woods with a man in a mask, and that she had run when she recognized him. Their response was to be expected—Christine had obviously left him for another and he needed to get over it and quit bothering them over his personal hang-ups.

Somehow—don't ask me how—word got back to Nadir, who wasn't so easily convinced. Apparently the account of a mad man with a mask was a little too close to home. I suppose that makes sense; it's not as if there are a great many people out there matching the same description.

Heaven help us if there were.

And so, unable to leave well enough alone and stay out of other people's business, the meddling fool decided to pay me an unexpected visit to see if I've… kept my nose clean… figuratively speaking for obvious reasons.

Then the bargaining began. I wanted him to leave us alone and never return, he wanted full access to my house and Christine—undoubtedly trying to find out if I wasn't keeping her tied up in a hidden torture chamber somewhere.

Why must everyone think such bad things of me?

Of course, neither one of us would get exactly what we wanted. That's how bargaining works. Nadir could never be out of my life completely… in all truthfulness, I don't think he'd know what to do with himself without me. However, in exchange for not attempting to take Christine (and force me to kill him in the process), I agreed to let him speak to her for a few moments—just long enough to convince him that Christine was not being mistreated and that she was here willingly.

Now here is the point where you are going to think me an imbecile and I am going to curse myself for being so eagerly deceived. You see, at the time I truly believed that Christine cared for me… that she stayed with me, not out of fear, but because she _wanted _to.

I know it is mostly my fault—I admit sometimes I tend to ignore the things I don't really want to see. But at the time…

Well, you have to understand… the looks… the smiles… the little shadows of affection—she had acted so differently towards me since she took my mask. It's as if she meant those odd words she said to reassure me. I believed it. How could I not? It was my greatest wish!

Perhaps the marriage was a little abrupt, I'll grant you that. But it would have only been a matter of time, after all. It shouldn't change her feelings for me. It only strengthened my feelings toward her.

Perhaps she was just very angry for surprising her like that. Some people don't like surprises, you know. I am one of them. Maybe Christine wanted to have a hand in the planning? I hear girls like that.

I left Nadir waiting downstairs while I went up to fetch my bride from her room. She had been up there a long time, I realized. I hoped she hadn't gotten too bored. I think she had started to get used to my company by then.

I knocked, but there was no answer. Figuring she was still upset with me, I began blubbering out some confused apology and pleading with her to open up. Still no answer.

As you can expect, my patience grows pretty thin when I've thrown my pride out the window, only to have the apology snubbed without so much as a word of recognition. After five or six minutes of baring my soul in this way, I took my key and flung the door open myself.

And, what do you know—Christine wasn't in there!

Very, _very _few people matter to me. In fact, I can count on two fingers (and that's only if I'm feeling generous) the people whose lives I might miss. So now, between my only friend and my only love, I felt my world turning sideways and all my control slipping through my fingers.

I hate feeling out of control. As a boy, when I looked back at my mother's house for the last time, I vowed I would never feel that way again. But that's enough of that.

Anyway, I was at a total loss as to what I should do. Should I go charging out the front door… or should I search the house first? Did I want to let Nadir in on my dilemma? If not, what on earth should I do about him?

As I tried to control my raging panic, I darted back down the stairs. I thought going back to where I was might give me a few breaths time to figure out a plan of action.

All thoughts turned from panic to white-hot rage, however, when I passed by the library to find Nadir with his arms around my beloved…


	31. Chapter 31

If I'd had my wits about me, I would have recognized the avuncular gesture for what it was—but I have long ago given up any sense of reason when it comes to Christine. I rushed the pair, separating them forcefully and pinning Nadir to the wall with my hand on his throat. I only barely registered the fact that Christine had been crying as I ordered her from the room.

"Get out, Christine. Go back to your room."

"Please! Erik… no!" she pleaded. I squeezed Nadir's neck tighter. It bothered me how eerily calm he was about it all. He didn't even claw at my hand like most would do in his situation. It was as if he instinctively knew that fighting me would only make it worse.

That man knows me so well it is frightening.

"GET OUT!" I screamed. Christine obeyed me this time. I think I frightened her with my tone. Oh well, there was not time to fix it then. Besides, I was so angry I couldn't bring myself to care about her feelings at the moment. This was her fault, after all.

That problem solved, I was free to turn my attention to the man currently turning a delightful shade of purple under my grasp. I loosened my hand just enough for him to speak.

"Give me a reason why I should not kill you where you stand. You have five seconds to convince me."

He glared at me. Me! The one doing the choking! I wanted to punch him… but I would get no answers from an unconscious man. But I gave him a hard shake for good measure.

"First, because we've been in this very position at least half a dozen times and somehow I am still alive…"

He was right, of course. If he was any other man, he'd be dead a hundred times by now. I'd get angry, I'd threaten him, occasionally it would get physical… but there was a part of me that didn't really want to kill that man. He'd grown on me… in a … parasitic sort of way.

But if I ever had to choose between him and Christine… Well, it wouldn't be much of a contest at all, would it? I know where my loyalties lie (I haven't many, you see, so it's easy to pinpoint where they are at any given moment). I'd kill him in an instant and never look back.

"Secondly… because somewhere in that black heart of yours, you know there was nothing going on…"

Well if that didn't just make all my anger deflate all at once! I replaced it with frustration, though. I threw Nadir hard onto the floor and kicked him in the stomach. I suppose I didn't really _have _to do that… but it made me feel better. I think Nadir knew it too.

"Leave, Nadir." I said after we caught our breaths.

"I won't stay away forever."

"You will if you know what's good for you."

"See you soon, Erik."

I was exhausted. I was not used to having so many emotions running through me. And, once the adrenaline wore off, all I could think about what how much I wanted to nestle my girl under my arm and stare into the fireplace, or maybe watch one of those inane, worthless shows on the television that all those idiotic people keep yammering about. It didn't matter, really. I just needed to unwind.

I sought Christine out. I wondered if she might let me hold her… just for a minute… thirty seconds, even… if I asked nicely…

No sooner had Nadir left than I was standing at Christine's door. There was no pretense of politeness this time as I flung open the door and marched into the room. I was still embarrassed at having knocked and groveled to an empty room and I was determined not to be made a fool again.

I heard water running and the bathroom door was open. She was at the sink, furiously rubbing more and more soap on her hands. She was crying freely and trying desperately to work the wedding ring off her finger. It wouldn't work, I knew… her fingers were far too swollen from all the hot water and the scrubbing was just making it worse. That piece of jewelry was not coming off any time soon.

Still, the fact that she wanted it off at all disturbed me more than I can say.

"Stop that right now, Christine. Get a hold of yourself."

She just tugged harder and muttered unintelligible words under her breath.

I snatched her hands from the water and held them in front of me. I didn't speak for several moments. I just stared helplessly at the two pink hands in front of me. I don't know why… I think my heart was willing her to love me and my mind was admonishing me not to fall on my knees and beg again. I wondered if she'd let me kiss those hands… just once?

When I looked back into her eyes, I saw that she was staring at me, waiting for me to speak. I sighed.

"Leave the ring where it is. You must never remove it. As long as you wear this ring, Erik will remain your friend and you will be safe. Do you understand? It must never leave your finger."

That… ah… didn't come out the way I'd intended. At least, I don't think it did. I hadn't meant to sound so threatening… but, at the same time, I wasn't sure what my actions would be if ever I were faced with such acute rejection.

I left again, needing to regroup.

That night was just as bittersweet as the morning had been. Several hours later I found myself at Christine's door once again, only this time I had no intention of leaving. Christine's eyes widened when she realized this and she started to whimper again.

"It's time for sleep, Christine. Stop sniveling like a child and get in bed."

When she still didn't move, I took a deep breath and composed myself. I had not meant to sound so harsh, but it had been a long day and her continued revulsion had started to wear on me. When I was sure I could control my voice, I tried again.

"Please, Christine. Come to bed. I am not going to hurt you… surely you know that by now."

She took a tentative step forward and started trembling uncontrollably, looking at the bed as if it was going to bite her. As her true fear began to dawn on me, I found myself feeling equally insulted and depressed.

"Do not think such vile thoughts of me, Christine," I said in my most gentle, reassuring voice, "You know me too well for that. I have no intention of taking any… unwelcome liberties… with you."

I walked her to the side of the bed and pulled back the covers. I tucked her in securely before walking around to my side.

"But… but you said…"

My voice was firm and I looked her in the eye. "I did, and I won't. But there is not a soul in the world that is going to stop me from sleeping with my wife on my wedding night."

That said, I flicked off the light and stretched out on top of the bedspread. I watched Christine for awhile until it occurred to me that the glow from my eyes was bothering her. So I turned on my back and pretended to be asleep, hoping she'd take the hint and settle down as well. I had almost thought it worked, too, until she quietly wrestled with the covers and slipped out of bed.

"Where are you going?" I asked, surprising her by being awake.

"Bathroom," she mumbled.

I waited for a long while for her to return. After an hour or so, though, I realized she wasn't coming back. I could almost picture her… all curled up on the bathroom floor, a folded towel under her head and a couple more as blankets. It was sad and broke my heart, but I decided to leave her in there. If she'd rather sleep in a bathtub than in my company, I was not going to force her out. I lay on my back and stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering how my life could be such a disaster.

I heard the occasional sniffle from the other room. Apparently neither one of us would be sleeping much that night.


	32. Chapter 32

I did a lot of thinking that night.

What I had seen in the library really upset me. Here's what had happened as I understand it now. Of course, I didn't know any of this at the time, but that's no reason to keep you in the dark…

Christine had grown bored in her room and came to the library to find a book. Nadir discovered her there while snooping around my house like an idiot and took the opportunity to talk to her without my knowledge or supervision. To this day, I am not sure what exactly she told him but somehow, in the fifteen minutes it took me to lose her and then find her again, she ended up crying in his arms.

Overall an innocent gesture. Knowing Nadir as I do, I'd even be hesitant to believe he initiated any sort of touch, comforting or not, between them. He's always been somewhat averse to physical touch of any kind, especially since his wife died.

I remember that from the first time he tried to kill me… or was I trying to kill him? Come to think of it, I don't really know _who _started it. Oh, that's right, I remember! Funny story, actually… oh, wait… you probably wouldn't think so… forget it, then… ah, well, I suppose none of that matters. Anyway, it was _my_ arm wrapped around _his_ throat, which is the important part. I mean, he's pointed a gun at me once or twice, naturally. But, when it comes to doing harm, I am definitely the more hands-on of the two of us.

Anyway, the old man was more than likely caught quite off guard when the strange woman spontaneously broke down and hugged him. And that was really all there was to it.

But it upset me nonetheless. Maybe not the raging murderous kind of upset… it was, rather, the reflective sort of upset that keeps you crying and grinding your teeth all night.

What had I done? That wasn't rhetorical either… I honestly had no idea what I had done that would make Christine do a thing like that. I know it was just the two of us… she didn't see anyone besides me, usually… but what was so horrible that it would make a usually slow-to-trust girl instantly latch on to the first human being to cross her path.

What was so wrong with me? Perhaps I hadn't given her reason enough to _love_ me… but, if she needed a friend so badly, why couldn't she choose me?

It's like when sides are chosen for a baseball team… and you're standing there, desperately wishing for someone to want you… but even when you're the last one left, and there's nobody left to choose from, they still overlook you. That's the best analogy I can give. I saw it in a movie once as a child… or maybe a book… or maybe I just made it up. It doesn't matter. I don't play baseball.

Maybe it was the face. Regardless of her kind words and assurances, I knew that it still horrified her. I may be slightly disturbed in my reasoning… but I am not blind.

But… I had thought… I had hoped that she had learned to see past that now. I wondered if she'd ever see me as a man and not a… thing.

--

The next morning I was up and out of the room before she ever emerged from the lavatory. I didn't think she needed a reminder of our travesty of a wedding night. I know I sure didn't.

I left fruit and cereal out for her in the kitchen, and went down into my music room. I wasn't in the mood to compose or anything; I just wanted to play. I flipped through piles of music, looking for something fast and technical… something that would keep my mind busy enough that it wouldn't wander.

But wander it did. _Pity really_, I thought idly, remembering back to the time when I could easily let the music absorb my consciousness and forget about the rest of the world. But, alas, no longer. It is another affect that Christine has had on me. She keeps me with at least one foot grounded in reality.

Frankly, I'm not sure how I feel about that. I really liked being able to lose myself.

And so, I left a small part of my mind to concentrate on playing while the rest of me pondered what to do about Christine. I couldn't avoid her indefinitely… unless, of course, she was already avoiding me, which I would get around to figuring out sooner or later. But, we did live in the same house, and she was my very reason for living… so I supposed we'd need to come to some sort of consensus.

I was done groveling, that much was certain. Whenever I let my emotions get the better of me, it only served to disgust her. Still, when I was cold and aloof, I only managed to frighten her. There had to be some happy median there… some way to earn her trust without baring my soul for her rejection.

And I _absolutely_ needed her to trust me. I managed to send Nadir away once, but I was not so stupid as to believe he wouldn't be back. Now, don't get me wrong, I had no intention of giving her up, Nadir's protests aside. However, I'd really hate to kill him unless it was truly necessary… or at least convenient. It would be much easier and a lot cleaner if he knew she was willing… and it would be much more convincing if those words came from Christine, rather than from me.

Practical reasoning aside, I'll admit that _I _also needed to hear her speak those words… that she wanted to stay, that she trusts me, that I have been good to her. Three days prior she wouldn't have needed to voice those things… I would have known it to be true with all my heart.

Such was no longer the case, I'm afraid. Enough doubt had planted itself in my mind yesterday that I was beginning to get nervous.

I hadn't realized it until then, but the more frantic my thoughts got, the more frantic my playing became… so much so that I think I nearly broke a finger when Christine startled me by clearing her throat behind me. I took exactly four seconds to reign in my thoughts before I turned around to greet her.

"Good morning, my dear, I'm glad to see you." It was true. I was very glad to see that she'd come to me on her own. I was dreading the prospect of having to hunt her down and draw her out from some hiding place.

Hm... well maybe not _dreading_. Actually, in the right scenario, the prospect would make me slightly giddy. As I think about it, now… it makes me want to rub my hands together like a villain before launching off into another wild chase through the forest like the time she tried to escape me. Baser instincts again…

But that was neither the time, nor the place. I was much too nervous to be having any of the wicked thoughts that I indulged in after the fact. I was terrified right then, wondering how she was going to respond to my greeting. I sincerely hoped she didn't ask to go home again.

She smiled a little. How could such a small gesture cause my heart to leap in such a manner?

"Good morning to you as well, Erik," she answered.

There was a bit of an awkward pause. I stared at her in that intense way that never fails to give her the… ah… _creepy-crawlies_, I guess. I keep telling myself to stop doing that.

Honestly, I really try! It's just so hard, you know… sometimes I feel like she's the only thing on earth worth looking at. And, as my mind is completely captivated by that fact, I never notice how uncomfortable I've made her until she starts fidgeting with her clothes and shuffling her feet.

I've still never been able to shake that habit, come to think of it. I suppose, after awhile, she grew tired of mentioning it and conceded that some things will likely never change. But that's another topic for another day.

Our eternity of silence was brief in reality, not more than a few seconds, as we both tried to decide what to say. Neither of us made any reference to the night before, and I think that was for the best. Yesterday was a disaster, but it was behind us now. We would just have to move on from here.

"Should we sing?" Christine asked, hopefully.

I was relieved and ecstatic. Singing was good. Singing was familiar territory. And the fact that she'd been the one to suggest it gave me a sliver of hope for the future.

--

The lesson lasted longer than either of us expected.

For the first time in a good while, she was completely at ease with me. She was completely lost in the music and I was allowed to watch her unnoticed. It was beautiful. _She _was beautiful. I remembered how wonderful it was to be her angel… to have her complete trust and affection. Of course, it would all be lost the moment the music stopped, but right now I was determined to enjoy the experience.

If Christine realized just how much time had gone by, she certainly didn't mention it, and I would have been content to keep her singing indefinitely. But, alas, it was not to be.

And not for any transcendent, moving reason either. She didn't break down and confess the love for me that my music had inspired, nor did the lesson end because I lost my temper and frightened her away again. Although, either of those would have made for a much better story…

Actually, my phone rang. Pure and simple.

It was a business call, and a prearranged one at that… but that didn't make me any less irritated about it. As gently as I could, I urged Christine into the kitchen for a drink and suggested she make herself busy for a few hours.

--

In the end, it was all more complicated than it had to be—the unfortunate effect of working with morons—and I was more than a little cranky in the end. And, no, I will not tell you what the call was about. Some things you are better off not knowing about and let's leave it at that. It was, however, a matter I would have to attend to personally, which would have several potential ramifications for Christine. But I'm not there quite yet, so be patient.

At the moment, though, I was tired and wanted to retreat to my study and have a drink.

To my surprise and delight, Christine was already in there. She'd yet to venture into any of my personal areas, though I left some of them open for her use. It's not like she could have gotten herself into any trouble—I keep everything important or incriminating safely locked up.

But, there she was, curled up in my favorite chair, with one of my notebooks (blank) and my favorite pen. If it were anyone else, I might be annoyed, but I found the thought of her invading my space oddly comforting and domestic. And she was pretty to look at.

"Sorry… I… I hope you don't mind," she stammered when she noticed my presence. "I just… I felt like writing, you know? And you had some paper here and—"

She stood up abruptly and straightened her clothes like she was going to bolt at any moment.

"It's fine, my dear, and do sit back down." I said, silencing her needless apologies. "Everything I have is yours."

She didn't look reassured at that statement; she was very, very nervous. That alone should have tipped me off, but at the time I chalked it up to her awkwardness of being caught unaware. But she hesitantly sat back down, which made me happy enough to stop analyzing her.

I continued on to the other end of the room and poured myself a drink. I didn't offer her one though… she's under age. That would be illegal. Then I sat down in an adjacent chair.

After a fashion, she sighed noticeably. Her thoughts were so evident in her face and I realized I had been staring.

"Do you hate me very much?" I asked, watching her intently.

She looked down and sighed again. I immediately wanted to retract the question.

"No. I don't hate you, Erik."

Now, that surprised me. I tried to stare straight into her brain and figure out what she meant. It was the '_however' _that I was fearing…

But it never came. Encouraged, I pressed on.

"Do you think… I mean… would you ever… is there a chance we could ever be friends?"

"Erik… I… I don't know…"

Hm. Good enough for me, I suppose. It was progress, anyway… and it gave me something to think about.


	33. Chapter 33

Time is a funny thing, really.

The ground a relationship can cover in a week might be accomplished in as little as a day or two if you are kept in ever constant company with each other. I believe my wife and I might be a prime example of such developments—she could be angry, fearful, and then warily accepting of me all in the course of a twenty-four hour period. From there, she might start day two on a reluctant, positive note and end it feeling the mild beginnings of affection. In theory.

Imagine, then, how quickly our relationship could blossom! That is… if I could only manage to stop screwing things up. One step forward, two steps back… and all that…

We did manage to settle into an increasingly comfortable groove before too long. I could tell that Christine was now reasonably certain I was not going to hurt her… neither would I let her go, though. So, like any rational human being—not me, of course, but Christine is better than that—she tried to make the best of things.

Not that she liked me very much at all… but at least she'd stopped fighting me, which I thought was definite progress.

If there was ever a time when she showed the barest hint of affection for me, it was during our lessons, which became increasingly longer and more frequent for that very reason. Occasionally I would catch her looking at me… staring at me like she'd never seen me before. Whenever I looked back, though, she'd turn and shiver (not the good kind… the kind of shudder that means you're supremely uncomfortable about something. Apparently there is a difference). So, I pretended not to notice. But I did sit up a little straighter.

The rest of the time… well, it's hard to explain, really. For every bit of emotion she gave to me in her music, that much seemed to disappear from her regular countenance.

She made every effort to please me… not with enthusiasm, mind you, but with no outward irritation and usually no words outside of a softly spoken, 'yes, Erik.'

Her compliance pleased and annoyed me at the same time, if that is possible. She was doing what I wanted, but I missed the little sparks she gave off whenever she fought me. I wanted her submissive, not subjugated.

And so I made it my objective to engage her somehow. I read to her, brought her articles, asked her opinion on things. It was almost a game for me, to see if I could get her to perk up and talk for a few minutes before she remembered who she was talking to and retreated to sulk in another corner of the room.

I started to answer some of her questions as well. Not everything… not even close… but I did try my best not to be so secretive. I realized that I needed to be willing to give up a bit of myself if I wanted her to trust me. And I would be willing to give up anything and everything to win her affection. I love her. My sweet girl…

And then it was time for bed. Nighttimes were the best, though, by far. It was the time when I could drag my weary skeleton into the warm bed with my wife and relax in her nearness.

I didn't touch her. Not in the… ah… marital sense, anyway. That's not to say I didn't want to, oh no. There were countless moments that my mind would wander and I'd catch myself wondering what it would feel like. And once Christine took the place of the faceless woman in my fantasies, I couldn't stop thinking about what it would be like with _her_. What's more is that, judging by her growing passivity and unquestioning obedience as of late, I think she probably would have let me.

But that's not what I wanted, you see. I couldn't bear the thought of her dutifully lying down to _endure _me. I wanted to hear her whisper my name and feel her nails dig into my shoulders. It was far better to remain ignorant of such pleasures than to make love to some… lifeless… _doll_.

That didn't stop me, however, from taking my place beside her each night. I'm not a particularly noble individual, you see.

However I do not wish to be particularly cruel, either, and so I did this with as little bravado as possible. I came to bed after she was asleep and left each morning before she woke. I was not hiding my presence from her by any means. No… nothing so sordid as that. My blanket would always be folded neatly at the foot of the bed where she could see it and she was quite aware that I had been there. I wasn't going to lie to her, but after that wretched first night, I didn't want to rub her nose in it either. It was an odd little understanding we had: she knew, I knew that she knew, I would not speak of it, and she would not sleep in the bathroom.

Not exactly the picture of marital bliss… but it was a truce, of sorts. And I could let my imagination take it from there.

And my imagination kept me peacefully entertained with all sorts of sweet fantasies about the angel in my arms. Christine was an active sleeper, so every so often I'd be awakened with a knee to the kidney or an elbow to the temple, but it was absolutely worth it for those times she'd flip over and throw an arm over my stomach or mistake my shoulder for her pillow. During those moments, I would pull her more fully into my embrace and nuzzle my imaginary nose in her hair.

She allowed it too! When I ran my hand down her spine or petted her face and hair, she would sigh in her sleep and lean in closer.

It was all so painfully obvious, too. I knew it each time I heard her passionate singing or looked into her serenely sleeping face. She knew she belonged to me. Her body knew it, her subconscious knew it… I just had to figure out how to make the rest of her admit to it.

And there were other complications as well. Nadir, for starters. And the Chagny boy.

You may not believe it—Christine sure didn't—but I really had nothing against Raoul de Chagny. His only real mistake was loving Christine, and I can't hardly blame him for that. From that first moment of raging jealousy when I saw her speaking to him, I knew he would not get over quickly. How could he? Christine is not the type of girl you play with; she's the kind you keep. I could sympathize with his obsession.

But, at the end of the day, I was the one who crawled into bed with the angel. Even the little incident at the park didn't change that fact.

Now that Nadir was involved, though, the boy was forced to the forefront of my mind. I wish he had just let the police dismiss the boy's complaints and send him on his way. He'd be heartbroken, no doubt, but otherwise whole and alive. Now I had to deal with the fact that I hadn't seen the last of him.

And it had every potential to become a very sticky situation, thank you very much, Nadir! I preferred not to kill him; I could safely assume Christine would be hard pressed to forgive me for that transgression. That is… if she found out about it. Hmm. Now there's a thought worth pondering…

Plus there was the added difficulty of that professional matter, previously mentioned, that needed my personal intervention. The more I looked into it, the more I realized that taking a business trip would be inevitable, and I dreaded the prospect of leaving my wife for any length of time. I was a newlywed, for crying out loud! Doesn't anyone have any respect for the word, anymore?

But, even with all of that looming in my immediate horizon, I have to admit that I was happier than I'd ever been. I had hope and music and a gentle wife, who was currently curled up against me, and for the first time, I truly felt _normal_.

Life was looking up, indeed.


	34. Chapter 34

Sometimes I spend so much time with the fantasies in my head that, when reality hits, it hurts more than usual. Such was the case with Christine and me.

I honestly believed… well… she didn't love me… but I thought that she had started to feel _something_ for her poor, unhappy Erik. I thought that… well, was it so wrong to hope that she might come to care for me… just a little?

But it was a lie. Whether it was her lie or my own, I cannot be certain, but having my hopes dashed so horribly… it smarted regardless of whose fault it was.

Perhaps I am getting ahead of myself… again. Forgive me for that; it was a painful moment that my mind objects to being forced to recollect it again. However, for the sake of continuity, I shall do my best to accommodate.

There was a pressing business matter that could only be attended to in one of my foreign offices. No, I will not tell you where. Do you think I am an idiot?

Without going into too much detail, one of my _associates_ decided it was a good idea to overstep his bounds, giving orders and withdrawing funds in my name. It is a problem that tends to arise whenever prominent _businessman _finds he cannot be everywhere at once. Without my dominating presence, people tend to Think, which results in them having Ideas… and, before you know it, they have convinced themselves that they could run things better than I.

Unfortunately, this means I have to reassert my authority in that area. It's always messy business, too, as it usually involves some sort of public assassination or gory display of… I don't know… I'm always highly annoyed by it all because it means I have to drop whatever I am doing and see to it every time some idiot with delusions of grandeur decides he wants to be a big Boss of something.

The funny thing is, I used to live for those moments. The opportunity for hands-on demonstrations used to give me such a thrill. But I was becoming increasingly disenchanted by such games. Perhaps I am getting old. It was all so very tedious now.

Don't laugh at me… but I suddenly felt like a child being enticed to do something unpleasant with the promise of something better. You have to finish your homework and then you can go play outside. You have to eat your greens before you get some pudding. It was like that. I could only think of getting this ugly business behind me so I could get back to Christine.

Speaking of Christine, she been acting a bit odd that morning. Perky, I suppose, which would have delighted me had it not been so… sudden. She had a smile on her face, but her eyes flicked back and forth every now and again like an animal about to bolt. And she was jumpy… good heavens, she was jumpy. Every time I spoke suddenly or enter a room, it seemed to startle her for a moment before she regained her cheerful exterior.

She was hiding something.

Christine has never been particularly good at keeping things from me—and that is not just because I have unwrapped most of her life for my viewing over the years. It's just that… while she can be very deceiving at times, she has never been able to pull off outright lies.

Why, I remember a time, years ago, when she had the flu and was determined to keep it from me.

"Christine, you don't look well. I think we should cancel our lessons this week."

"NO!" she cried, awkwardly stifling the cough that accompanies such outbursts. "I am not sick… I just… I ran all the way here and I'm a little out of breath."

"Ah, so the coughing is because you're out of breath?"

"Mm-hmm"

"And the sneezing?"

"I… ah… ran through some hairspray."

Oh how adorable she was back then! She still is, just in a very different way. She had been lonely, having been in bed all day, and wanted some company. It pained me more than I let on to have to scold her, but I couldn't have her go ruining her voice. Or lying to me. So, after I snapped at her and cautioned her not to speak for the next few days, I spent the next few hours telling her stories and singing. When she went back to her room, I sent her a care package from Mrs. Valerius.

But this type of deception was neither cute nor innocent. As much as it hurt my heart to admit, Christine was up to something and I had to find out what.

Now… how to do that without letting her on to the fact that I know something is amiss?

Searching her room seemed the most logical starting point.

And ending point, as it would seem.

"Just tell me what you're looking for, Erik. I might be able to help you." Her voice was getting more desperate the longer I was in there.

"Now, now, Christine, there's no need to trouble yourself. Erik will find what he is looking for in good time."

The banter continued for some times, with Christine panicking more and more, and me trying to keep the creeping bit of madness at bay.

And that is when I found it. A folded up note… under her pillow, of all places. It was such a stupidly obvious hiding place that I had dismissed it at first. What on earth was she thinking?

"Dear Christine," I sneered, "You will have to do better than that if you think you are going to hide things from Erik."

She began to cry and beg and tug at my sleeve. I ignored it all; I pushed her off me and began to read the damning letter.

_Raoul,_

_Please, you must help me! I have been kidnapped by a madman. I am trapped here with this monster and I don't know what to do. I saw you in the forest, but other than that I have no idea where I am. I wish I could tell you more. If you care for me at all, please find help. The only thing keeping me sane is the belief that I will see you again. I love you._

_Yours,_

_Christine _

For a moment, I looked up at Christine in disbelief. She was crying and saying all sorts of things that I couldn't make out with the blood roaring in my ears.

I am a grown man. I didn't want her to see me cry. Neither did I want her to see me go into another violent rage. And, since I wasn't sure which one I was about to do, I turned without another word and left.

That is all I remember for several hours. It's all foggy, what happened next, and I haven't been inclined to put any energy towards recollecting it.

The next thing I remember is sitting on the floor, looking dazedly at the obliterated objects around me. It was a disaster. Nothing of any substance remained intact and there was not a single piece of furniture left standing.

_I suppose that explains what I was doing on the floor,_ I thought as I picked my self up and straightened out my clothes.

I must have beat out part of my soul as well, because when I returned to Christine's room, I felt completely numb. When I opened the door and saw Christine huddled by the window, I felt nothing. Her eyes were puffy and wet and I vaguely registered that the fact should upset me. I should want to shake her or hold her or scream or beg or frighten her. But again… nothing.

"Why?" I asked, surprising myself with the hoarseness in my voice.

She shrugged. Pretty girl. After a moment I heard her whispering, "What… what is it you want from me?"

At the inanity of her question, I felt a glimmer of irritation. It wasn't much, but it was a feeling nonetheless, so I embraced it.

_Are you stupid, Christine? I want you. I want your love. I want you to sit with me and sing with me and…_

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"A kiss, Christine. That is what I want. Kiss me and I will spare the boy."

Don't bother asking me why I asked that of her. I think we've established by now that I have no idea why I do the things I do.

Anyway, as soon as the command left my mouth, I felt a spike of fear, knowing I had made myself vulnerable once again. Irritation, fear… why is it that the unpleasant emotions seem to surface first?

I ignored the fact that I had laid myself bare and awaited her decision.

I didn't have to wait long.

Without a moment's hesitation, Christine closed the distance between us and brushed her lips lightly against my jaw. When she stepped back… oh… it was the oddest of looks she gave me…

A new wave of feeling returned to me. I cleared my throat.

"Pack your bags, Christine. We are going on a trip."


	35. Chapter 35

I'd always pictured Christine and myself going on business trips together. There's something nice about coming home and having someone there waiting for you—even if you're far away and not really at home.

I was excited. I had already begun to think of this as a vacation of sorts—despite the fact that Christine wouldn't be leaving the hotel. Oh, and there was the matter of the gruesome murder I had to attend to. But otherwise, I considered it the perfect romantic getaway.

And so, even though I was still a little angry with Christine, I couldn't help but feel slightly giddy as we stepped out of the car and began boarding the flight.

Ah, maybe I should take a second to explain: sometimes I file away emotions for later. Of course I was feeling betrayed by my wife and all of my fury was directed, gratefully, at the boy. But I told myself that I'd just have to go kill the boy when I got home and I'd have plenty of time to ponder all the grisly ways in which to do it, so I should just put it out of my mind for now and enjoy Christine's attention.

Hmm… now, how to get her attention…

Actually, it wasn't all that hard. She was shooting me the strangest looks from her seat next to me. She kept staring at me whenever she thought I wasn't paying attention.

And I was suddenly cheerful again.

I turned to her fully. "Thank you for accompanying me, Christine."

Christine arched an eyebrow at me like I had just said something ridiculous. What I wouldn't give to know what goes through that girl's head!

"Really… I am truly pleased that you are coming with me."

She nodded, but was otherwise silent and preoccupied. I think my sudden change of moods disconcerts her at times, though I cannot imagine why. I would have thought she would prefer Erik in a happy frame of mind.

After a fashion, she sighed and said, "Erik… about the letter, I—"

I shushed her. I couldn't have her bringing up unpleasantness and ruining our lovely outing. But she did look ever so upset with that frown and furrowed brow. It pleased me to think that she was regretting her actions.

"Shh, now darling, none of that… you know your Erik cannot stay angry with his Christine. Let's put this madness behind us."

She asked where we were going and I spend the rest of the car ride telling her about our destination as well as some of my other travels.

And she looked interested, too! Really… she was, honest to goodness, interested in what I had to say! She even asked questions.

Yes, this was exactly how I pictured married life to be.

Oh! But that isn't even the best part!

Christine withdrew again when we approached the small plane. That is not the good part, naturally, but I have to mention it anyway so the story makes sense and I'd like to remind you not to interrupt me thank you very much.

Anyway, Christine's withdrawal made me sad. I did not like seeing her so pensive and melancholy all of the time, and that seemed to be the only thing I was getting from her these days.

Then again, it meant she didn't fight me when I took her arm to help her up the stairs into the cabin. I don't think she'd ever been on a plane before—at least not since she was a little girl—so I gestured her towards a seat near the window.

I knelt before her under the pretense of helping her buckle in. When I reached for her, she pulled back. When she did, I felt the push of something in the back of my mind. It was the kind of something that I keep from Christine—the kind of something that leads to glorious music and dizzy sprees of murder. But not now… now it was… singing? No, that wasn't right. It was _laughing_ in a disturbingly sing-song voice...

_Heehee—_my mind said—_Christine, Christine, how long do you plan to go without touching me? Heeheehee._

I don't know how or why… but I found the situation strangely humorous. She'd sit close to me, but she was always careful not to make contact. And, when I leaned closer, she shifted away to the same degree. It was like a funny sort of dance. And the twisted part of my mind thought it was hilarious.

Does that make sense?

No, I suppose it doesn't. Even I don't understand the logic of _that _part of my brain. But, then again, isn't that the point?

At any rate, I started to laugh. It wasn't the boisterous kind of laughter you hear when someone is privy to a clever joke… it was the silent kind of laughter that makes your shoulders shake and tears come out your eyes.

I sunk lower on my knees and covered my face to hide the ridiculousness of it all. I'd hate for Christine to see my madness… especially since we'd been getting along so well.

Looking at it from her perspective, I can clearly see how she would have mistaken my reaction for crying. It wasn't, of course—I had vowed, for the umpteenth time, not to weep before her again—but she had no way of knowing that.

Embarrassing as it was, I am forever glad for the misunderstanding.

After a moment or so, I felt a deliciously light touch on the crown of my head—a soft hand, gently stroking my sparse strands of hair. My shoulders stilled and I made no movement. I was afraid to breathe, less she startle and stop.

"Poor Erik…" she said softly.

I looked up and grabbed onto both of her hands. I hope I didn't hurt her.

"I love you, Christine."

She looked at me strangely for an uncomfortably long time. I wonder if that is what a staring contest is like.

"I believe you."

That was nice.

--

Once I settled Christine into the hotel for the afternoon—the one with special locks to keep a person _inside_—and procured lunch for her, it was time to get to work.

It was only a short walk; I had designed this particular hotel which, of course, caused it to have a hidden room in the basement for this very purpose.

After that, it would only be a half-hour's time before my guest arrived for our meeting.

--

When I arrange to see someone in this line of business, I am used to see them quaking in their boots, no matter the purpose for the meeting. If they have reason to believe they have displeased me, it is not uncommon for them to make a run for it instead, leaving me to retrieve them—which is a game I have rather come to enjoy.

And so, imagine just how irritating it was to see this young man casually saunter into my office unattended. He even had the audacity to smirk at me!

"I see you managed to elude my guards," I said, feeling every bit the evil villain. I generally arrange different meeting places depending on the person and purpose. Meetings of _this type _were always held down here, and only two people besides me knew of its existence. These two escorts were there to serve as… ah… guides… into the cellar. It didn't matter after that if the intended knew the location of this place. No one ever left alive, anyway.

But, the fact that he had both escaped his escorts and found the location of my… erm… lair… showed promise. Pity.

"Yes, I found them rather easy to dispose of. Tsk, tsk, Erik. I expected a higher standard of you than that."

He was trying to provoke me, but I would have none of it. If I gave the madness a foothold, this would be over too quickly. I gritted my teeth and pushed it back. I must stay sane for Christine, you see. It is what she would want. But, boy, did it irk me that he knew my name.

"Now there's no reason to resort to petty insults. We are both gentlemen here," I cringed when that lie fell from my mouth. This boy (for he was a boy, despite the fact that he was not a great deal younger than I) was no more than a petty thug who wanted to play with the big boys. But, there are certain proprieties one must observe during these engagements.

I wondered if he knew that yet.

"Might I offer you a drink?"

Judging by his look of surprise and stuttered refusal, I gathered he had no idea. The poor lad probably thought I would poison him or something. How terribly inelegant. Some people have no class.

"Oh, come now. There is no reason why we can't clear up this misunderstanding like civilized men."

He nodded shakily and sat down. He was quite good at schooling his features, but I am more observant than most men. I could tell that my politeness threw him a bit.

Excellent.

--

When I returned back to my room, I was bloody and tired. Usually I would return from such engagements excited and inspired. Now, all I wanted was a shower and Christine.

And maybe an aspirin for my headache.

The torture and subsequent murder of my enemy would take place over the course of a few days, so I couldn't even promise myself that tomorrow would be different.

I had secured a set of adjoining rooms for Christine and me. I needed the privacy and I wanted to give Christine a bit of space after our argument… today? Yesterday? _Tomorrow_? I couldn't remember, what with the time change and all. I decided not to bother.

What I hadn't counted on was the shared bathroom.

Nope… hadn't counted on that at all.

Apparently neither had Christine.

We both entered the bathroom at the same time and, for the longest seconds of my life, just stood there in absolute shock.

There she was, ready to take a shower and _completely wrapped in a towel_, staring with wide horrified eyes at my blood smeared mask and clothes.


	36. Chapter 36

Damn it. Damn, damn, damn, damn it.

Why hadn't I counted on a shared bathroom? I designed the blasted place!

Christine was in a towel.

Now everything was ruined. She was going to want to know what happened… and if that wasn't a no-win situation if I'd ever heard one. If I lied, she'd know I was lying (really, what kind of viable excuse could you come up with to cover up _this_ sort of awkwardness?), and then she wouldn't trust me anymore. But, if I told her the truth… she'd go back to being afraid of me.

And she was in a towel.

Damn it, Christine! Go put on some clothes, girl, so I can think!

On second though… don't.

Wait… that's not right either…

Blast!

She kept staring at me.

I, sure as heck, couldn't keep my eyes off of her.

I don't know what she was thinking, but I was in a bad way. Something would have to give.

"Christine—"

"Are you hurt?" Her soft voice was completely unreadable. That, in itself, was disturbing. Her eyes were dead, which made me shudder.

And she was in a towel… which made me shudder differently.

"No." I choked, finally aware that she had been waiting for my answer.

I thought I might have detected a hint of emotion then, but her face was blank. She nodded slowly and left.

--

I scrubbed too hard in the shower; I dug through my bags for some lotion or antibiotic for the raw patches of skin mottling my face and neck.

Christine asked if I was hurt. Should I be overjoyed or upset? I my cynical, love-struck brain could not decide if the flicker of emotion I either saw or imagined was a sign of relief or disappointment.

You can imagine my confusion.

"You _are _hurt," came a small voice from the doorway.

I cursed softly and groped around for my mask. Then I cursed again—I hadn't cleaned the inside of my mask yet, only the bloodstained front, and the sweat stung something terrible as it touched the open wounds on my face.

"It's fine. I am fine… I… I am sorry for disturbing you. Go back to your room. Or, the shower is free if you like."

I spared a glance in her direction. Her skin was pink and her hair was wet; she must have already made use of the bath.

I shut my eyes and scolded my brain for taking that thought a step further.

Either she misunderstood my reaction—which was altogether possible since my mask only reveals my chin and my eyes are invisible when the light's on—or decided to ignore my words, because she stepped further into the room.

"Did you kill someone today?"

"Never mind, my darling. You needn't concern yourself with such things."

Her eyes widened impossibly large and she looked sick. Her eyes darted from me, to the bloody clothes on the floor, and back to me again. She made a little sound—like a moan or a whine—and then rushed back into the bathroom.

And then she _was _sick.

I hurried after her. Luckily, she hadn't had the presence of mind to lock or even shut the door, so there was no hindrance to me being by her side… which was fortunate… because, the way I was feeling right then, I was liable to break the door down. And then where would we be?

I'll be honest. I had absolute no idea what to do. I'd never been there for someone who was vomiting before… and, heaven knows nobody was ever there for me when I was sick. If there's one thing that can make an ugly man more unsightly, it's that. But I was never one to sit around when Christine was suffering… so I knelt down beside her, held back her hair and rubbed on her back.

"Shh, Christine… it will be okay."

Eventually, when I thought it was safe, I fetched her some water and a wet washcloth. She tried to push me away, but she was in no condition to fight me. So she broke down sobbing, instead.

I was at a loss. Was she crying because she was sick… or sad… or _what_? By the way she had tried to shrug me off, I gathered that I must be doing _something_ wrong… but I had no idea what or how to fix it.

I kept whispering platitudes as I waited for her to say something.

When she did, she was nearly hysterical. "I… I can't believe you!" she shrieked.

Honestly I had no idea what I'd done to offend her, but I was not stupid enough to ask so I stayed silent and waited for her to enlighten me further.

"You… _killed _someone! You… murdered a person. What… why… how could you do such a thing?"

Ah, yes. That.

Christine is so innocent. She is an angel. So I can imagine why something like that would cause her such distress.

"Oh, my darling child! Erik has not killed anyone." Well, Erik has not killed anyone _yet_… or _recently_… depending on how you wanted to look at it. But she did not need to know that.

She paused and looked at me curiously. "But you said…"

"I _said _that it was nothing you needed to concern yourself with." Which was absolutely true. Not that I think husbands and wives should not know about each other's lives, don't get me wrong. It's just that I know that certain things might have the tendency to upset such a delicate young thing. And I do try so hard to keep that pretty brow unfurrowed.

"But you have, haven't you? Have you… do you… kill people?" She whispered.

These questions were tough. Although, I suspect that fits since my wife was asking if her husband was a murderer. That kind of thing is no picnic even in the best of situations.

Her eyes were pleading… begging me to tell her that it was all a misunderstanding… or self defense… or one of many other excuses that would make me less of a murderer. But I had a feeling that she wouldn't believe me if I lied. I debated with myself, what to say and how to phrase it. I guess I took too long because she started sobbing anew.

"There was blood on your shirt, Erik. And your mask… so much blood…"

"Christine, Christine… you don't understand. There are so many evils in this world… so many things I have tried to shelter you from."

"What were you doing, then… today… if you didn't kill someone?"

Another tough question… and I knew without a doubt that she wouldn't approve of the answer. I am not completely daft when it comes to women. Deciding I'd had enough of this conversation by the toilet, I helped her to her feet and led her to a chair in her room.

"Why did you bring me here? Does this… whatever you did… does it have to do with me?"

Oh that poor girl! She thought that I would intentionally drag her into…

"No, my darling… no, this has nothing to do with you. It is not your fault and nothing you need to worry yourself with. Erik… merely needed Christine's company. I love you."

"But you are a murderer!"

"And are murderers incapable of love?" I asked, more forcefully than I intended. I was becoming more frantic with each second. She was afraid of me. All I wanted was to love her.

Suddenly overcome with fear, I grasped both of her hands, folded between my own, and pressed them to my lips. I needed to feel her… to know that she would not leave me. I was crying. In my confused brain I thought that, if I held her hands tight enough, she would have to understand my feelings.

She was quiet for some time and I rested my forehead on our forcefully joined hands. Under my breath I murmured whatever words I could come up with the express my devotion to her.

"No more, Erik."

I looked up, confused.

"No more killing. Please… promise me. I don't know what you have been doing… whose blood that is… but promise me you won't kill them."

"I promise. I would not do anything to cause you distress, Christine. Erik loves his wife very much."

"If you don't mind… I think I should lie down now."

--

While Christine rested in her room, I was pacing in mine.

What should I do?

Technically, I hadn't promised to stop killing completely… just to spare the man I had downstairs. And, to be fair, she would have no way of knowing if I kept that promise or not. It was only a fluke mistake that she had any inclination of what I was doing in the first place. If I was careful…

But what was that strange feeling I had?

I couldn't place it then, but now I recognize it as guilt. Yes, for the first time since I could remember, I felt guilt.

Not for ridding the world of another member of the human race that I loathed so passionately. But, rather, for upsetting the woman I love.

I had upset Christine before, surely. But those times I had only been acting on her best interest. But this… this was different. Christine had nothing to do with this… and yet, it had distressed her very much. And I care more about her than anything.

I don't think a man like me can change… not for good anyway. But, I could do this for Christine. I would die for her and thank her for the privilege. I would kill for her without a second thought. So it stands to reason that I could… not kill… for her as well, right? At least this once?

She is very innocent… a very good and compassionate girl who is afraid to see anyone hurt… even if it is a complete stranger. But what of her poor Erik who loves her so passionately? Would she feel the same compassion for me if it was _my _blood she saw?

I still don't know why Christine cared so much that I spare a man that she'd never met, but I decided that, if it made her happy, then I would do it. Maybe then she could love me.

--

After I'd made my decision, I didn't waste any time carrying it out. I unlocked the small closet where I had been keeping my… ah… victim, for lack of a better word. I had given him enough of a sedative to keep him out—or at least groggy—until I returned the next morning, so I was fairly confident that he would still be in no shape to offer any resistance.

I covered myself with gloves and a jacket that I could dispose of and removed my mask so it wouldn't get dirty. No sense in repeating those oversights. Then I made short work of carving my signature into his fact, like I did the others. I used to delight in the screams this would coax from a man just before I killed him, but no longer. All I could think about was Christine and the weary groans I was hearing just irritated me.

I was glad when he passed out again.

Without further ceremony, I heaved him up over my shoulder and carried him out a secret exit. Then I chose an acceptable street corner and left him there to be found.

I knew I could not be linked to the crime; the name I use in my less-than-legitimate business transactions is unique and completely unrelated to any of the pseudonyms I use to conduct above-board activities. Furthermore, my would-be competitor was currently in no position to talk… and, when he was, I sincerely doubted he'd have anything helpful to say.

The authorities would investigate, of course, but they were not as thorough here as they are in other places. The media would have a field-day with this, though. It is the first an only time the Phantom has left a victim alive.

All in all, I'd say it was a pretty successful operation. I had rid myself of my competition. I had effectively sent a message to the people who needed message sending. And, best of all, Christine would stop being mad at me. And all this, a few days ahead of schedule.

Maybe Christine had a point, after all.


	37. Chapter 37

Because I am a quick learner, I washed meticulously before returning to Christine. Since it was late, I very quietly entered her room, expecting to see her asleep.

But she was not there.

I quelled the flash of panic that shot through my stomach. _She could not have escaped… the doors were locked. It is not possible. Perhaps she is reading, _I decided_. _ I'd left a stack of books for her on my desk. I left her room for mine.

But she was not there either.

This wave of panic was stronger than the last and my vision started to change color… like when I am about to do something terrible that I won't remember later. I felt as if I was leaving myself… like I was stepping aside and letting something else take over.

And then I heard a sigh—her sigh—and I came back down to earth.

That is what Christine does, do you see? She keeps me anchored.

The soft sigh had come from my own bed, of all places. Still breathing heavily from my shock, I crossed the room towards the bed. There she was, curled up on one side and clutching my pillow.

I was aghast. I leaned over her and ran a finger down her cheek. I had… you see… I had to know that she was real.

She sighed again. "Erik…"

"I am here, my love." That is when I noticed the tear stains that had dried on her cheek. I traced the line with my thumb. "I did what you asked, Christine. I… Erik loves his wife. He does not want her to be sad. I let the man go, just as you said."

She raised a sleepy arm and pulled me down toward her. I had to climb into the bed to keep from falling on her. Then she rolled over… not quite touching me… but… it was close enough.

"You did good," she murmured.

I cannot pinpoint the moment of my own downward spiral… the event that caused my affection for Christine to become a love of the most maddening and the most obsessive kind. But… looking back in my mind, I can see this sleepy encounter as Christine's first baby-step into her own sort of madness. My sweet girl.

--

The flight home was uneventful, Christine was pensive and I was still reveling in the whispered praise she'd given me the night before. I was encouraged and I began to believe my hope might be justified after all.

We spent most of the day resting. The older I get, the more I hate traveling. I had convinced Christine to come and sit with me in the library and was now watching her read. She kept glancing up, awkwardly noticing my staring, but made no comment.

"Come sing with me?" I asked, after a time.

"No."

I was shocked by her refusal. Perhaps I had misunderstood.

"Excuse me?"

"No, I will not sing. I do not want to sing right now. Just… go away. Leave me alone. I don't want to be here."

I found myself getting angry. I had to reign in my temper and fast.

"Christine," I ground out as calmly as I could manage, "I am your husband and you will do as I say. Come with me to the music room. We have been neglecting our lessons too much lately."

I wish I could give a better explanation. I wanted her to be happy—truly, that is all I ever want—but I also wanted her to sing. Sing, love me, be happy… I don't know which order to put those in…

I must have made my irritation clear, because she set her book down and silently followed me out of the room.

While that was the end of her disobedience, I was far from pleased with the result. Her singing was tense and she seemed always out of breath. She was going to hurt her voice if she continued this way!

"Christine! Stop! What is the matter with you?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered. I thought she might cry. "I'll do better. Can we start again?"

We began the song again and I stopped her almost immediately, grasping her shoulders in my suppressed urge to shake her. I had to understand!

"No, stop! Christine, I taught you better than this. What are you thinking?"

And then she did cry. Her eyes were wild and she was vigorously shaking her head in a desperate 'no'. She wrenched away from me and turned around, fisting her hands in her hair and tugging at it like a lunatic.

"No, no, no! You don't understand… it isn't fair… it wasn't supposed to happen this way."

I was afraid; I'd never seen her act like this. I was so desperate to do something… to fix her somehow. My wife was suffering… something had upset her. It killed me not to understand. I was frustrated, but I could not get angry. No, I could not for her sake.

"What is it, Christine?" I asked in the voice I always used to sing her to sleep. "Tell Erik what the problem is."

Her sobs subsided into ragged breaths. She was still facing away from me and she leaned forward and rested her hands and forehead on the nearest wall. I crouched awkwardly to look up at her.

"You kidnapped me. You are the bad guy. This isn't right. I should not have…"

"What, Christine? What is it?"

She choked out another sob. "I wasn't supposed to fall in love with you!"

Then she shoved herself off the wall and fled the room, leaving me speechless and panting in her wake.

--

I sat there for some time, trying to formulate a coherent thought. Christine loved me! _Erik has a wife who loves him!_ But… if she loved me… then why was she so upset? We were married, and we loved each other. Where, then, was the problem? Our lives were finally complete. Yet she was… angry with me?

I couldn't tell. I was so confused.

After some moments of pondering, I decided that the only one who could clear up my confusion was Christine. I would find her and she would answer my questions. Of course she would answer me. She loved me.

I climbed the stairs, confused but determined. When I reached the main floor I turned down the hall that led to her room. I stopped, though, when I caught a flash of light in my peripheral vision.

The front door was swinging wide open.

--

The oddest thought passed through my brain. Eventually all this panic would kill me. I just wondered if it would be my heart or my mind to go first. Or maybe I'd have to suffer years of stomach ulcers and muscle spasms first. Either way, Christine wasn't doing good things for my health this weekend.

I practically launched myself out the front door. This was not at all like the last time she tried to run away. This wasn't planned, and I wasn't so sure I'd catch her this time.

Of course, I _would_ bring her back to me eventually… even if she managed to escape me, I would come for her. I could not give her up. There was no place she could hide where Erik would not find her. Call me determined, but she was mine.

But I still felt sick. She loved me! She said so herself! The thought that it was all some… elaborate betrayal… that she had said exactly what I had longed to hear only so that she could distract me and escape…

It was unthinkable. Every inch of my body hurt and the dangerous part of me screamed with rage. I kept it at bay—barely—by focusing on one thought. _I will find her_.

I assured myself with the knowledge that I knew the property better than she did. It was a purposely confusing layout; you had to know where something was if you were going to find it. On the luckiest days, she would only be able to find the main exit. I counted on that, since it drastically reduced the places she might go.

So there I stood, blocking the way out, wondering if she had already found it or if she was still around somewhere.

And that is when I saw her.

She had found an escape after all. There she was, past my barriers and at least half way down my long driveway, quickly approaching the deserted street. I counted this as a win for me, oddly enough. At least I knew where she was. I sprinted after her.

As I ran, my mind worked. What would I say to her? Would I yell? Would I cry? I was hurt and angry beyond compare.

She could not be trusted. Christine would always betray me. The only thing left to do was to tie her up and lock her in her room. Yes, that is what I would do. Lock her up forever. She would never see the sun… but she would never leave me. I could tie her hands and cover her mouth. Yes! I could do that! Then I could dote on her and love her all I wanted and she could never push me away or tell me her treacherous lies ever again. I could cover her eyes as well—then she would not have to think of Erik's face. Oh how happy we could be then! Christine would depend on Erik for everything then. And he would be only too glad to provide for her.

It was all too perfect—my plans for our life together. It wasn't what I had originally had in mind, of course, but it seemed so brilliant that I wondered why I hadn't thought of it sooner.

Now I had only to retrieve my bride and all would be well again.

But it was easier than I thought.

As my mind had been frantically sorting itself out, I hadn't noticed that Christine had abruptly stopped in the road. I looked up and saw her only a few yards away from me. There she was, on the threshold between the driveway and the road, on her knees. Yes, on her knees… she was rocking back and with her arms wrapped around herself. It was if there was some invisible wall between her and the highway.

I was instantly concerned. "What is it, Christine?"

She only shook her head. She was giving the open road the same kind of longing look that I often find myself giving to her. Can you be jealous of a street?

But, why hadn't she left? She was mere centimeters from freedom and yet, here she was, crouched on the ground just looking at it.

"I don't understand, Christine. Why did you stop? Why haven't you run away?"

Christine continued to look at the road. "I have nowhere to go," she said simply.

"I have nothing… no one… no place to go…" She looked at me with wide eyes and an expression of sudden realization. "There is only Erik," she said. There was no emotion in her voice… only resignation.

Her eyes met my own as if looking for confirmation. It was such a pleading look… so fragile… I could not deny her.

"Only Erik," I repeated.


	38. Chapter 38

I wasn't sure just what to make of Christine's epiphany. And the fact that I didn't know what to make of it made me inherently paranoid. Was she mad… or toying with me? Or could she possibly be really and truly in love with me? Of course the latter had been my greatest fantasy for a long time now, but I sincerely doubted there could be any truth to it.

She was 100 percent correct in everything she had said, you see. She had no where to go, no future to speak of… and no one to turn to for help. No one except Erik, that is.

But couldn't that be enough? She could find no better friend than I. I, who would provide for her every whim and protect her with the very fiber of my being. Could the same be said for anyone else? Is there another who would die for her? More so, is there another who would kill for her?

Um… I decided to keep that last bit to myself. I didn't think she'd take it as the reassurance I intended. Women are funny creatures. But I am learning, you see… slowly learning.

So, yes, everything she had revealed to herself was true. She had finally come to accept the lesson I had so long tried to teach her. Christine was learning to depend on me. The biggest hurdle was behind us.

But… I was still unsettled. It was her tone, I think… it made me think that something was up. It was like… she loved me… or at least needed me… but didn't… well… want to. Which didn't make a lick of sense.

But that didn't stop me from lying to myself for the time being. I could over-analyze her motivations tomorrow. It wouldn't hurt to spend one evening playing house with a wife who loved me.

And it didn't. In fact, it had been one of the best days of my life thus far. Christine has that effect on me, you see. She can take a day out of my pathetic existence and make it worthwhile. Clever girl…

"Come inside with me," I prodded, helping her up from her kneeling position on the pavement, "I think… a cup of tea would be nice. Don't you agree, darling? Shall we go back home?"

"Home…" she murmured, not bothering to remove her gaze from the… nothing… that she had been staring at.

I laced her arm through mine and led her back to the house. Our house. The house I lived in with my wife who loved me and whom I shared everything with.

Well… almost everything. The important things, anyway. But let's stay on topic, shall we?

When we returned to the house, I glanced at the clock. "It is nearly lunchtime, my dear. Are you hungry? What would you like to eat today? Your husband will fix you anything you like. Oh I love you so, Christine."

She nodded. "Whatever you think is best."

I was unperturbed by her answer. Well, mostly. I knew her indifference had to be born out of the tension of the morning. There was a good chance she was still experiencing some jet-lag. If I was a better man, I would have sent her to her room for a nap… but I was not willing to give her up to sleep just yet. We'd just have to retire early tonight.

She began to eat silently. I wished she would say something; I'd learned it was much easier to stare openly at her under the guise of being an active listener. It didn't seem to bother her, though. Actually, she didn't seem to notice me at all until she suddenly looked up at me.

"Won't you eat?" she asked. She was looking at me like I had four heads.

"No, darling. Not right now."

She was still staring. I self-consciously felt for my mask. Still in place.

"You never eat."

"Would it please you for me to do so?"

She nodded and turned back at her food. My chest swelled a little, I think. No one has ever cared enough to be bothered by my neglectful habits. It felt good, you know? Really, really good.

"Then I promise to eat once you are finished."

She nodded and shrugged like she didn't care either way… but now I knew better. My shy flower had already shown me that she cared—she was just being bashful. It was all so very endearing; if she had smiled as well I am sure my heart would have melted right out of my chest.

--

After lunch, she rose to go wash up and change clothes. I grabbed an apple—because I am a good husband and true to my word—and went downstairs to wait for her.

I almost fell down the last step, though, when I heard her shriek my name.

I am forever thankful for my quick reflexes. I think… well… I feel like I have enough working against me to be tripping over my own feet. As it was, I managed to catch myself and bound back up the stairs to see what had so upset my wife.

"Christine!" I cried as I tore my way into her room. She was facing the window.

"Christine?" I asked, this time, trying to get her attention.

When she turned around, my insides jumped a bit. She was looking at me again… staring. It was that same look as before… empty and piercing at the same time. What on earth had caught her attention so? It was unnatural.

Again, I felt the need to fidget. _Egads, woman! Stop looking at me like that!_

I wonder if that's how people feel when I am watching them. It sure would explain a lot.

"Oh hello, Erik. What are you doing here?"

"You called for me." I was getting exasperated. She'd called me in such a panic. Had I imagined it?

She frowned. "I did, didn't I? I'm sorry. I… I don't remember why I did that."

"Don't be sorry, darling, I was just so—Ah! Christine, you're bleeding!"

A spot of blood had started to soak through her long-sleeved shirt. I yanked up the sleeve to have a better look. Sure enough, she had a good sized gash in her forearm.

I was mortified.

"Oh that's right," she said indifferently, looking at the cut limb curiously, "I remember now. I nicked myself on the corner of the desk."

I felt the corner. She must have hit it really hard to cut herself so. Was she not paying attention? I asked her as much.

"I got distracted," she answered, "I think I hit it pretty hard. Do you think?"

I blinked. Didn't I just say that?

She was unresisting as I took her to the closest seat—at the offending desk, oddly enough—and left to fetch some first-aid supplies.

"Christine… go sit down. Erik will take care of you."

"You do, don't you?" she said, smiling slightly. "You do take care of me."

"Always, love."

--

Later that night, I was flipping through an article that had caught my interest when I heard light footsteps padding down the hall. Silent as a ghost, Christine floated into my study and took a book off the shelf.

My assumption had been that she'd been experiencing some insomnia and was looking for something to read, and so, naturally, my expectation was for her to take her book and go back to her room. In fact, her intent seemed so deliberate that it didn't necessitate a greeting on my part. I just watched her out of the corner of my eye and waited for her to leave.

Instead, though, she wandered over to my chair and handed the book to me. I stared at her, waiting for her to explain, but she did not. She settled down delicately at my feet and laid her head on my knee.

It was all so unnervingly silent.

I began to read.

I felt her relax against me as I read to her and I had to smile. When I ran an experimental hand through her hair, her head rested even heavier on my knee. Her eyes were closed.

This is how I had imagined it to be between us. I would be her slave… but, at the end of the day, she would snuggle up beside me and I would have a family.

After a fashion, she rose and took the book from my hands. A whispered 'thank-you' and a half-hearted smile and she wandered back to bed.


	39. Chapter 39

I quit locking the doors. All things considered… it just didn't seem necessary.

That didn't mean, though, that I was any closer to making sense of Christine. The cynical side of me kept insisting that it was all a ruse… but, for the life of me, I could not guess what she would have to gain by faking her affections.

Some time ago, perhaps, I might believe that she was trying to trick me into releasing her, or at least giving her more freedoms around the house. But, that hypothesis just didn't fit anymore. She'd had her chance to run… and she chose to stay. That must mean something.

Right?

I had to ask her… just to be certain. I wanted to hear the words… even if it was a lie.

The morning after her outburst, she woke up earlier than I expected. I always tried to be gone from the room when she awoke. It was my own fault, I suppose. I'd been having a lazy morning—it just felt so good to hold her. Anyway, she stirred as I was still folding my blanket at the foot of the bed.

"Erik?" she called sleepily, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and sitting up.

I knelt before her. I said a quick prayer and hoped that she didn't notice my trembling.

"Did you mean what you said, Christine… about loving me? Do you still mean it?"

She smiled. "Of course I meant it." Her arms found their way around my neck; she put her head on my shoulder and leaned her weight into me. It was… a bit like holding a ragdoll. But, who was I to complain?

I felt encouraged. "Is it wrong for me to ask a kiss from my wife?"

She shifted. "Do _you_ think it's wrong?"

"That is a loaded question, my dear."

"Do you want me to kiss you?"

"More than anything."

Without hesitation, she turned her head and kissed the closest exposed section of my skin—my neck, just below my ear.

I untangled her arms and stood. "Since you're up… perhaps you ought to get ready for the day."

She nodded. Again. She'd been doing a lot of that lately.

"I think I should get ready now," she said, meandering into the bathroom.

Nearly every morning after began in this fashion. I would ask if she still loved me, request and receive a light kiss, and make suggestions about the upcoming day.

They really were suggestions, by the way—completely free of threat or manipulation on my part.

But… she took every one of them. If I wanted to take a walk, she wanted to as well. If I desired to see her in her blue dress, when I saw her next, that was what she would be wearing.

It seemed as if all our wishes were now in one accord. It was nice to know that both our lives had meshed so perfectly. Then again, I always knew they would. We are perfect for each other.

On top of that, it made me feel so much a man and husband to know that there was a woman out there who trusted me implicitly and wanted nothing more than to please me. I suppose I could have taken advantage of Christine's sudden compliance… but, I have no trouble behaving myself when it comes to Christine's welfare.

Aside from the occasional acknowledgement of something I had said, Christine was noticeably quiet. I believe this was the one truly frustrating thing in our relationship thus far. I had truly been looking forward to long talks… the intimate discussions and playful debates of a couple in love sharing mutual interests. But it was not to be. She never spoke unprompted, never issued any opinions of her own…

Christine would follow me around the house. When I was busy, she'd sit silently and patiently in a nearby chair until I was finished. No matter how long I took, she never complained and never made a sound. I often enjoyed this, actually. It was always such great inspiration to have her near me… but when I am in the clutches of artistic concentration, I am not always lucid enough to answer questions or hold a conversation.

But, of all these things… it was her eyes that made my mind ache and my gut twist. Those just-blue eyes had lost… _something_.

It just wasn't right.

I know it's ridiculous to say… that her eyes were wrong. It's not possible, my logical mind tells me. They are simply organs—like a kidney or a liver—nothing more than collection of photosensitive cells that trigger nerve impulses to the brain and…

And yet… I cannot explain it. Her eyes used to give off a light of their own. Not in the literal sense, like mine… but they had always had this glimmer—a spark, if you will—that laid bare all of her secrets and passions and… _life_.

But… no longer. The light had left. I spend hours gazing into her face, trying to find it again… but it was gone. Those eyes that I loved so dearly were pale now and—dare I say it?—_soulless._

Except…

Except when we sang.

Our practices continued and Christine's voice grew stronger than ever. When we sang—oh, how do I describe it?—her heart released and all that pent up emotion came flooding out. She wept sometimes… and smiled. Sometimes she'd rest her soft, little hand on my shoulder while I played. During those moments, I knew without a shadow of doubt that she loved me. Every so often I would turn and she would open her eyes and I would catch a glimpse of the life that once lived there.

And so we kept singing and singing. We practiced until Christine was too physically exhausted to stand and had to be carried to her room.

I couldn't stop, you see. When I did… she returned to the stoic little doll that had been wandering our house for days.

Sometimes I think… it's like my mind knew how quickly she was slipping from my grasp… and was desperate not to let her go.

And so we sang.

The evenings, as well, maintained the same surreal routine as it did that first night. I would send her to bed, and a short time later she'd reappear at my study door. She would take a book from the shelf and sit at my feet.

I tried to see a correlation between the books she chose, but I could find none. One night it was fairy tales, and then poetry… one night she even brought me a textbook on entomology. It was very curious, actually. I'd watch her every time; I don't think she even _looked _at the bookshelf. She just took the first volume she touched and came to my side.

Once she settled, I would play with her hair as I read and she would lean against my knee. After a time, she would get back up, replace the book, whisper her thanks and go back up to bed.

My thoughts haunted me when she left. I couldn't take it anymore. Something just wasn't right. But what? Why wasn't I happy? I had everything I wanted, right? A living wife by my side for—

Well that's just it, isn't it?

Have I ever told you what Christine said to me the night after the gala? I was so very proud of her. She sang like an angel that night.

"Are you very tired?" I asked.

She smiled weakly at the empty piano bench she always assumed me to be at. _"I gave you my soul tonight and now I am dead!"_

It was all so very melodramatic and adorable, but I hadn't given the statement much thought until…

I had the most chilling realization.

I had gained the angel but lost the girl.


	40. Chapter 40

I knew it wouldn't be long before Nadir returned to make demands of me. He's funny like that.

The thing is… I was kind of glad for it. Of course, that didn't stop me from making all the standard threats upon his arrival, but old habits die hard.

"Back again, daroga? And here I thought you rather _liked _being alive."

I think I may have startled the man. I had been facing away as I first addressed him.

"You know why I'm here, Erik."

"Yes, I suppose I do," I admitted. I looked over at Christine; she had been sitting quietly with a book while I tried to surreptitiously sketch her portrait.

I don't know why I bothered being sneaky about it; it's unlikely she would have been upset. But I think a small part of me was still frightened that one day she would wake up and reject me again.

Actually... a big part of me.

"Christine, darling," I said, offering her my hand. She took it immediately and stood up from her seat. "Go on upstairs and get ready for bed. I'll join you in a few minutes."

"But..."

"I'll bring a book with me and we can read up there tonight, alright?"

She smiled--a glorious sight even if it didn't reach her eyes--and nodded.

I stroked her hair. "That's my girl," I murmured. Then I kissed her on the forehead and sent her up to her room.

When I turned around, Nadir was standing there looking utterly gobsmacked. I am fairly certain that, in the most delusional of dreams, he would never have imagined me having a mutually tender exchange with... well... _anyone_.

"What have you done to her, Erik?" he asked. Any other time I would have snapped at him but, as it was, I had been asking myself the exact same question.

So, I didn't answer.

Instead, I poured us each a drink.

I didn't speak at first. I pulled my chair closer to the fireplace and stared into the flames. I'd had it built when I built the house, because I liked the look, but I'd never lit it before now. But Christine complained once that it gets a bit cold down here, so I built a fire for her sake. I'd realized recently how much I enjoyed having it there—aside from the warmth factor, something I never knew I could care about, the flames themselves were wonderfully relaxing to look at. Kind of hypnotic, you know?

Anyway, for a few long minutes I did nothing but stare and contemplate and swirl my drink around in my hand.

Nadir didn't speak either, which I appreciated. You see, Nadir is an expert interrogator. I suppose he has to be, since it's been a big part of his job for over half his life… but, I've always revered the fact that he could wrench information from even the most tight-lipped of suspects. Where I get frustrated and skip straight to torture… he simply… _asks _questions. I used to think it was because of that sickeningly good-natured face of his, but actually his manipulation skills go deeper than that. He just has an instinct about these things… he knows when to step back and when to go in for the kill.

It's beautiful, really.

"Did I ever tell you that Christine hates to get flowers?"

"I don't think you've mentioned that…"

"Never has… even when she was young. She says she never saw the point… you know, to take something from outside and kill it and take it inside just so you can watch it slowly die."

"She certainly is an extraordinary young woman."

"That she is, daroga."

We were silent again… it seemed like hours. I kept expecting Nadir to snap or try something stupid. I know I would have. But he never did.

"Chagny is still looking for her, you know," he said.

I hadn't known, actually. I thought the runaround the police gave him would have put him off the search. But, apparently, that sort of thing is like fuel to the fire for a person with a hero-complex.

"What of it?"

"Do you really think you can keep this up forever?"

Honestly, I was surprised by Nadir's boldness. He has known me for a long time; one of the reasons he is still alive is that he knows not to press me. And especially about _this_… I should kill him for his impertinence. I am not one of his _subjects _to question. To be treated as such… at a time like this… well… it was infuriating and offensive.

And yet, it was also strangely comforting.

And so I decided to let him live for a few more minutes.

But then I surprised even myself—not only by my lack of violent retaliation… but by the fact that I actually _answered _him.

"I don't know. I thought I could. I thought… oh… I don't know what to think anymore."

"She appears to harbor some affection towards you…"

"You think so?" I asked, hopefully raising my head from where it rested in my palms. "Yes… yes, I suppose she does. But—"

"But what, Erik? This is what you've always wanted, isn't it? All those times you spoke of wanting a living wife—"

"But she isn't, Nadir. I can't think of her that way. Now… from now on… She is my dead wife. Don't you see? I won't ever have a living wife—such happiness was not meant for me. The best I can hope for is… is a dead wife."

Nadir looked horrified. "Erik, you wouldn't!"

"Of course not, you fool!" I snapped when I realized what he was suggesting. I would never harm a hair on that girl's head, much less… Why must he always assume the worst about me?

I told him so in not-so-subtle terminology and even-less-subtle threats. The sudden aggression was nice. It felt good to be hostile again. Hostility was safe. Hostility was easy. I could do that. I can understand it.

I still can't believe he thought…

Never, never, never…

At least, not the way he was thinking.

"Then what?" he snapped back, "Why would you say such things if don't plan to kill her?"

"Haven't you seen her, Nadir?" I was shouting now. Good. "Did you look at all? Did you use those _detective senses _you are so proud of? Tell me you didn't see it! I have _already killed her_!"

I heard a small voice. The sweetest, small voice that ever existed.

"Erik?"

"Erik, what's wrong? I heard the shouting and… are you crying?"

I choked a bit. She was… so sweet… so gentle. "It is fine, Christine. Go on upstairs. Erik will be with you shortly."

Then she smiled at me… that soft smile reserved only for me. And that trusting face… she needed me, and knew it. _Oh my wife! My sweet, dead wife… Erik loves you always. But, help me, I cannot give you up!_

I watched the door long after she left.

"She loves you, you know."

"I know."

"You've won, Erik. You have what you set out to get. She's yours, and she seems to love you."

"You won't try to take her away from me."

"Not if she's here willingly. But… I think it's time you consider—"

"I cannot live without her, daroga."

"What of it? You very nearly killed me over her once. Are you saying you would not die for her?"

I breathed. Again. Again. All the while knowing that I did so only because she was in my life.

"Get out, Nadir." I said… though, it wasn't harsh.

"What will you do?"

I shrugged. "The only thing there is to do. I'm going up to see my wife."


	41. Chapter 41

The following night was strange for me in that my desperation made me bolder. If you _knew, _without a doubt, that the world was going to end tomorrow, would it inspire you to act on those things you've always dreamed of?

Perhaps it was a bit more complicated than that. There was still a fine line between enjoying her company and frightening her away. It's just that this time I was trying to tightrope walk along that line rather than keep as far away from it as possible.

I slept under _her_ covers. Strange, I know. Before then I had only stretched out over the bedspread, but I needed her close. I curled around her and cried into her hair. In my mind, I hoped that if I held her tightly enough, I might just dissolve straight into her and we'd never be parted again.

Suddenly an idea struck me.

She would leave me, yes, and I would let her. The idea made me sick to my stomach, but I was beginning to accept the truth of it.

But… maybe… just maybe, I could still keep her. Yes… at least a part of her would always be mine. It would complete my collection… the treasures I had collected from her over the years. Then I would lock myself up in the shrine I'd built of her and never come out. And, when I died, I would know that Christine had not left me… not truly.

I stroked her pretty hand, idly wondering which of those lovely fingers she would miss the least.

It was only right, was it not? She had my heart... so it was a fair trade, yes?

Besides—and I tightened my grip on her even as I thought this—I couldn't bare the thought of Chagny enjoying having her all to himself.

She would go to Raoul, of that much I was certain. And the boy would take good care of her. But, somehow, that thought didn't make me feel much better. The fact that he would soon be the one to hold her perfect hand made my blood boil. It was _my _hand… _my _Christine.

But… no… I could not return Christine to the world less than whole. More importantly—if I cut off her finger, Christine would be angry with me. And she would probably cry, which didn't sit right with me at all. I liked to think we'd moved past the time in our relationship where she cried all the time. Good husbands don't make their wives cry.

But I cried for her all of the time.

I had to sigh at the unfairness of it all.

--

I was waiting for Christine in the kitchen when she came downstairs the next morning. She seemed a little puzzled, I'm assuming over the fact that I was not there to greet her when she woke up. I just… couldn't. So I made breakfast instead.

"Good morning, Christine," I said, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice.

"Morning," she answered.

"I have a surprise for you today."

"Oh?"

"Yes, but first you must come sing with me. Will you do that, Christine? Will you come sing with your Erik after breakfast?" Oh how pathetic I was… I felt as if the whole of my sanity rested on her answer.

"Of course. What kind of surprise is it?"

"It is one you will like. I will wait for you in the music room. You will come?"

"I said I would, didn't I? Is everything okay?"

_No! How could you ask such a thing? Do you have any idea… _

"Yes, everything's quite alright, dear. Now, enough of this… we are wasting time. Eat quickly, please, and meet me downstairs."

--

"Erik… I can't. I can't go on… please, can we take a break?"

I had kept her singing longer than I should have. It's just that… it would be the last time, you know? I wanted to treasure the moments I had. She was alive when she sang, and that is the way I wanted to remember her.

"Yes, I suppose a break is in order."

"Will I get my surprise soon?"

Why did she have to be so damned eager? It's like she just couldn't wait to be rid of me. I don't know how well I managed to hide my disappointment at her request, but I did try. I motioned towards the door and led her outside.

--

The drive was relatively short, and frankly I had mixed feelings about that. On the on hand, I was desperate to soak up every last second with her. On the other hand, there was a part of me that just wanted to hurry up and get the whole thing over with.

I vaguely registered that she was speaking to me, but I couldn't exactly make out what she was saying… and I wasn't very inclined to listen at the moment. I'm pretty sure she was asking if something was the matter… or possibly she wanted to know what her surprise would be. Either way, I wasn't ready to answer.

When the car finally came to a stop, I watched Christine's eyes widen when she realized where she was.

"Erik?" she asked timidly.

I nodded. "Yes, Christine. I am giving you what you wanted. You are free to go."

I sensed she was about to speak, but I couldn't let her… I feared I might lose my resolve. "You have made your Erik very happy… and, I hope… I hope you might at least have some fond memories of me."

Her brow furrowed, but she didn't argue. I don't remember much… I remember begging her, in my mind, to stop tormenting me. To just… go. I couldn't… I couldn't…

She nodded her head and touched the handle of the door. When the door opened and the fresh air from the outside flooded in, I was suddenly hit with a wave of sickening panic.

I grabbed her wrist and felt my heart crack when I saw the glimmer of the wedding band on her finger.

"The ring, Christine… you… you must never take it off. Erik gives you your freedom… but, you will always wear his ring, won't you? As long as you wear Erik's ring, he will remain your friend and no harm will ever come to you."

And then she left.


	42. Chapter 42

I didn't just drop Christine of at the curb of some gas station with a wave and a 'good luck', if that's what you were thinking. I had spent most of the night considering how best to return her to her world. I took her to the home of Mrs. Valerius, knowing that Christine would welcome the reunion and would have a place to stay for a few days while she got back on her feet. It was the only place that made sense to me.

Later that evening, a package arrived for Christine. The paperwork for the apartment I'd rented for her and the bank account I'd set up in her name. I also included acceptance letters from the music department of every worthwhile school in the area, should she choose to pick up where she left off and attend college.

I couldn't bring myself to send her far away, though. She was free of me… but I wanted her close enough that I could check up on her occasionally.

The most painful thing, however, was my letter to her. It wasn't long, by any means—I didn't really have much to say. I told her not to fear me… to go to Raoul and live happily. Yes, I gave her to Chagny. I know it is what she truly wanted, and I didn't want her to go through life thinking I would come after any person who got too close.

But I wanted to. Oh, how I wanted to…

Satisfied that I had my girl taken care of—and that I had effectively ruined my own life—I went back home.

--

I was dying… and every fiber in my being urged me to speed up the inevitable. I didn't, obviously. I was pretty sure suicide was the type of thing that God frowns upon, and I had been trying so hard to be good lately that I hated to ruin it right away.

Beyond that, though, I felt I couldn't let myself be so merciful. I deserved to suffer… to endure all the pain and misery I had brought upon myself before my slow death came to completion.

Funny thing is… that I could not exactly remember _why_. And the longer Christine was away, the fuzzier my thoughts became. What had I done, again? And why was it wrong? I knew there were supposed to be lines… or… something… separating right and wrong but, for the life of me, I couldn't remember where they were and what they were doing there in the first place.

The only thing I could remember with any clarity was that, for some reason, I should hate myself more than usual.

But that was enough for me.

--

The next few days—weeks?—fade in and out. Not that it mattered much… they all consisted of such maddeningly repetition that it was pretty easy to get the gist of it. I decided that, if I wasn't allowed to die, I should do the next best thing and get obscenely drunk and stay that way. I paced, I shouted at nothing, I rubbed my scar long after it had started to bleed.

That is about how Nadir found me. In one hand I held Christine's hospital bracelet, which I alternately kissed and crushed and wept over and, in the other, a drink of… something… I wasn't sure what by that time.

"What is going on here, Erik? What is that noise?"

I growled at him for what he called noise and he backed off.

"It is Christine, you idiot! Can't you hear it?"

It was Christine's audition tape, which I had been playing on repeat for Heaven knows how long. I turned it down.

"It is Christine… when she was just a little girl. Listen… daroga… listen to how happy she sounds. This is the way she was… the way she used to be before… before her father crushed her… and before I ruined her. Nadir, you must believe me! I didn't mean to do it! She was just… she was so sad. I only wanted to help. Her father killed her when he died… I just… I wanted her to be alive again… to be happy. That's all I wanted, daroga… I didn't mean to… to… oh, please believe me!"

"Slow down, Erik. Tell me what this is about." He was gentle, bless him, so gentle. But I could tell, you see, I could tell he was afraid… and angry. He had good cause to be, too. I could have done almost anything in that state and not have a shred of memory about it.

"I'm dying, you know," I said suddenly. Had he asked a question? I couldn't remember.

"I was supposed to meet Raoul de Chagny today, but he did not show up. Do you know anything about that?"

"I am dying… of love, you see. I am dying because… I loved her… oh I loved her so. And I love her still! I still love her Nadir, and that is why I must die."

"Erik… _where is Christine_?"

"Ah, Christine! She is beautiful, you know. At least she was… in my mind… she looked alive. That is how I will remember her… alive."

"Erik! What have you done! Where is Christine Daae? What have you done with Raoul de Chagny? Have you killed them?"

He started to shake me. It hurt, I tell you! It rattled my brain around and made my headache magnify tenfold.

"Why are you shaking me?" I asked, trying to make sense of it all. "I just told you I was going to die. Why do you shake a dying man?"

Then he hit me. My mask dug into a part of my cheek which had been rubbed raw from the constant friction and I began to bleed. That sobered me up a bit.

"What?" I snapped. "What are you doing here, bothering me like this?"

"I want to know where Chagny and Miss Daae are."

"How am I supposed to know?"

"At least tell me if she is alive or dead."

"Oh, Christine? She is not dead… at least I don't think so," I amended, frowning. "If she is, that has nothing to do with me." The thought that that inspired made me choke and lose my breath. _Calm down. Calm down. She is safe. She is happy. _ "No, I am sure of it. She is not dead and no one will ever harm her."

He visibly relaxed at this. Although I was positively irked that he seemed to be ignoring the fact that I was lying there, dying in his presence.

"And Chagny?"

"I am assuming he is well. I wouldn't know… you talk to him more than I do."

"So… you have released Christine? For good?"

"You want to know if it is over… if I am going to run back and do something terrible. No, I tell you, my friend… it is over. Over…" I began to cry… pitifully and horribly like a nightmarish infant.

--

I cannot exactly tell you what happened next. I do know that Nadir was completely unconcerned about my imminent passing, which depressed me further. I didn't expect anyone to miss me—no, quite the contrary. But I thought… I'd hoped at least _someone _might not wish me dead, you know?

But Nadir just refused to acknowledge it at all.

Anyway, what I remember was that one minute I was on the floor and, the next thing I knew, I was comfortably tucked in my coffin with a clean shirt and fresh mask. I had every intention of sitting up… looking about the room to see what happened and find out where my shoes had gone… but I fell asleep before I got the chance.

I'd figure it out later. Sleep was good… if I was lucky, I might even dream of _her._


	43. Chapter 43

Nadir and Fate had conspired against me, combining good intent with dark sense of humor—this was a new low for both of them, I believe—and decided to keep me alive awhile longer. I swore to punish them both whenever I got around to it.

Slowly he convinced me to eat… to shower… he patiently forced me out of the depression that I had hoped would kill me, just as he had done with me so many years ago.

But… I think… I think he may have regretted it. He tends to accumulate guilt, especially where I am concerned. I suppose it might be justified, considering.

Christine had been the only thing keeping the madness at bay. Without her as my conscience, I no longer had the power to restrain it. Nor did I have the desire. Instead I embraced it, welcoming it with the gratefulness that comes from knowing that it was the only friend that had never truly left me.

Well… that and _Don Juan_. But that is neither here nor there. I could not work on it anymore. I was angry at it. I was angry at music. Music betrayed me, you see—it led me to believe that it alone could make Christine love me.

So madness was all I had left.

Anyway, with life looking bleak as it was, I threw myself into my _other occupation_. My own business interests—legitimate and otherwise—seemed to be doing well enough without me, but I could always find people to hire me for a bit of consultation work on the side.

My reputation as the Phantom was widespread even though it was only spoken of in whispers. If you needed someone assassinated or interrogated—and had enough money—you could find none better. The Phantom was efficient, virtually untraceable, and left no witnesses.

It's a funny thing, witnesses… if you don't mind me straying from the story for a moment. I left no witnesses, but I rarely killed anyone who was not my intended.

It was rather a matter of pride for me than an act of mercy. You see, what set the Phantom apart from all others was the fact that he could seemingly appear and disappear out of nowhere, seizing the target right from under his companions' noses.

Now, granted, there was always the odd exception… but one cannot be prepared for _every_ possibility.

Not that it really mattered, anyway. It was just a game, you see. A game with myself, a game with the target, a game the employers. Just things to do to pass the time.

I wish I could describe to you what it is like to lose myself. I can feel insanity taking over when it happens. I can only concentrate on one thought at a time, and yet that one thought—whatever it is—chants in my mind like a mantra until I give in. I want to tear at my skin and pull out my hair, just to make it stop. Only once I have accomplished my task can I hope for any peace.

But I cannot fault nature and my own mind for this. My greatest work has come from such bouts of madness. It is empowering, you see. Everything seems to change color. My senses are sharper… more attentive. Only one thing matters and everything else is a hindrance to be destroyed.

But… not anymore.

It was different when I had Christine with me. I was afraid to hurt her or frighten her. I would die if I did that. And I think my mind knew it. Self preservation and all, right? Thoughts of her were always floating somewhere in the back of my consciousness, taking up room so that nothing else could take over completely.

And so, when she was gone… I experienced a different kind of insanity. No longer was it a fixation on a single goal. Rather, it was this all encompassing blur, where all the lines of right and wrong and reality and fantasy all seemed to merge into each other. I was paranoid, but almost giddy with excitement over it.

The results of my work changed with my frame of mind. When I questioned someone… when I killed them… I was still as cold and detached as ever… but there were no lines in my head, telling me how far was too far. The hardened criminals who hired me vomited when I dropped the first victim at their feet. The poor fool didn't live long... and they never did find his left hand... but he was very much alive when I delivered him, and that was the important part.

The reason I began taking assignments again is because it gave me a goal to point my energies to. It was important, you see… for no one was safe from me. I would wander about at night with the confidence that, if anyone passed too closely, I would simply kill them.

Suffice it to say, I wasn't doing well.

This was bad… I knew because, every so often, in the early evenings, I might hear Christine's voice telling me it was bad.

Was it true? Was that really her saying that? Or was it a memory… or some strange fabrication of my imagination? I couldn't be sure.

I had to see her again… just to be certain.

--

After a quick consideration, I decided to check first at her new apartment. If she was not there, I could always go to the Valerius house, but it would please me greatly to know that she was making use of what I had provided for her.

But… when she was not at either place, I started to… oh, what's the word… panic? Worry? Well… whatever you call it, it was unpleasant.

I paced for a few moments, trying to decide where to go from there. I thought I might try the Chagny dwelling… but I knew it would kill me if I found her there. _Save it for a last resort, then._

The only other person I had known her to spend any length of time with was the little Giry girl. It didn't take long for me to locate her residence, but in that short amount of time my frustration grew dangerously high. I decided that, if I did not find Christine there, I would just have to kill the Giry girl and her mother for the inconvenience.

Fortunately for her, it didn't come to that. I broke in easily, and quickly made my way upstairs, where I could hear the girl's overexcited voice carrying down the hall. Just as I was about to storm in, demanding answers, I caught the tail end of her conversation.

"Yeah, totally! Well… Christine's been kinda out of it lately, since she came back, but I'll make sure she comes. She needs some cheering up, anyway. Okay… awesome… see you there! Toodle-oo!"

That child's energy never ceases to amaze me.

I followed her to the restaurant and found a quiet corner to myself. It was dark enough, I thought I could watch the goings on without being bothered.

I saw her.

There she was, in the midst of dozens of people. I wondered briefly who they were, as I did not recall knowing Christine to have many friends. Perhaps they were guests of the boy or perhaps… ah well, it was pointless to speculate. I decided just to watch for awhile.

It's funny, really, that just being in her presence is still calming to me. For some reason, I knew to behave myself. I would have destroyed everything, living or otherwise, that separated the few meters between us. I would have cut the lights, snapping necks so quietly that no one would know to scream. It would be dark… she would not see a thing, and I would take her away again.

But something about her presence told me not to. I could not comprehend _why_ I should not do these things… only that it would not be a good idea.

I think it was the ring. She still wore it--I felt as if the tattered remnant of my sanity was tied to it. Actually, I _know _it was.

So I was good. I ignored my instincts, and I contented myself to just… be with her.

From what I gathered, she was the guest of honor for this impromptu party. And, yet, she seemed altogether detached from the group. She seemed to be polite enough whenever someone addressed her, and yet she made no move to become part of the conversations around her.

The whole situation seemed very odd to me. I am not exactly an expert when it comes to entertaining--at least not in the conversational way--but I had thought she'd be acting more… I don't know… _lively_. Whatever was wrong with her? Why wasn't she celebrating her freedom as everyone else was?

The _boy _sat next to her with a wide, idiotic grin on his face. Occasionally he'd slip his arm around her shoulders. I gripped onto the table so that I would not kill him. I repeated to myself that this was my doing… that I was the one who gave her to him. But… it did something wonderful to my pride to see her stiffen ever so slightly whenever he did this.

She was staring down at the table now, toying with her napkin. When she looked up, my heart nearly stopped. She was looking in my corner. Could she see me? She just kept… looking.

It was a little unnerving, to be honest. The hunted seem to have an innate sense of when the predator is around… and I hoped with every fiber of my being that this was not the case. I was not… that was not what I wanted to be. I think.

And yet, her eyes did not betray any panic. In fact, she was not acknowledging my presence at all. She was just staring with that furrowed brow that you get when you are trying to make out a figure in the dark. Which, I suppose, she was. I was confused. Exceedingly so. Did she recognize me for what I was, or was she simply bored with looking at the table?

In the midst of all the laughing and loud voices, the boy suddenly yanked her close to his side. Still grinning, he whispered something in her ear. Oh, if only I could know what he was saying! Then again… perhaps this was for the best. I do not know what I would have done.

Anyway, she didn't respond at first. After a good fifteen seconds, Chagny playfully waved his hand in front of her eyes.

"Hello?" I heard him say, "Are you alright?"

"I have to go," she said, suddenly, and disappeared so quickly that barely anyone knew she was gone.


	44. Chapter 44

I continued to watch Christine. Even now, I think it was best for the both of us. For myself… well, I suppose that merits no explaining. The fact that you are alive is a testament to it.

As for Christine… she seemed to just… _do _better, when I was around. I don't think she knew of my presence, though there would naturally be some suspicion, considering our history together. But, I can't explain it…

Well, maybe I can.

You see, after the confusing scene at the restaurant, I decided to do a bit of research. Luckily I knew someone who had connections in the right places. Though not an officer, himself, Nadir worked closely enough with the police department to have overheard at least _something _about Christine's sudden appearance. I figured that to be as good a place to start as any and I could just work from there.

Nadir knew surprisingly little, though I suppose that would explain his readiness to divulge the information he did have. Upon her discovery, Christine was immediately taken to the police station for questioning. Afterwards, she was referred to a trauma counselor to… I don't know… find out how being stalked and kidnapped made her _feel_, which seemed rather inane to me. It was all standard procedure, you see… nothing Nadir had reason to hide.

But, there was one interesting fact that I couldn't seem to wrap my brain around: Christine refused to give a statement.

If there was anything more indicative of her broken spirit, I could not think of it. Why else would she decline to answer any question explaining her sudden disappearance. Between Nadir and Chagny's frantic searches a few weeks back, and by the subdued way she was acting, they had gathered that _something _had happened against her will. And yet, she refused to confirm a thing. Nadir, of course, was the only one besides her who knew the whole truth, and the only one who could prove it... but I was fairly certain he wouldn't take any action without her permission.

Well, my curiosity was sufficiently piqued. Nadir may have given me a place to start, but it was clear the police would have more details than he would be privy to.

Breaking into the police station was easy enough--which is kind of a disturbing phrase, considering. The remaining guards on duty were easily distracted when all the alarms went off at once. It would have been funny, but I had no time for such things. As it was, I only had a few short minutes to pull up Christine's file on the database, save it to a disk, and erase all traces of my presence.

I discovered the name of the counselor she was referred to. My next task was to infiltrate that office and copy her file there as well. Each bit of information lead me somewhere else but, before too long, I had acquired everything I might find useful. I've had a lot of practice with this sort of thing.

I wish you wouldn't judge me. You are, I can see, but I wish you wouldn't. I had no intention to interfere, only to... _know_. You have to understand how much it confused me when she did not turn me in.

She enrolled in the local community college, but had yet to attend a single class. Actually, when I started checking in on her regularly, I realized that she hesitated to spend much time at all in public. She had started having panic attacks around large crowds.

She'd been referred to several different therapists, each more specialized than the last. At one point I think they even considered putting her on medication. The boy put a stop to that, though, so he's at least good for something. There is no drug that could take away what had been done to her. One counselor also considered sending her to a type of institution for therapy for a while. Chagny put a stop to that as well. The last thing she needed was to be locked up again.

I must say that I spent a good amount of time vacillating between gratitude and intense hatred towards the boy. Hatred generally won out... but that's just the kind of person I am. As glad as I was to know that he and the Giry girl remained her friends, each time I saw his car outside her apartment, I wanted to beat his skull in. I mean that, too. As far as violence went, I tended to be graceful and efficient. Sophisticated, you see, because it truly is an art form if you do it right. But this boy incited ever bit of unrestrained rage in my soul, and I wanted to literally beat him to death. How strange would it be for the Phantom to walk straight up and punch someone in the face?

Christine's living arrangements were a little strange. Officially she lived with the Giry's. She initially refused the assistance I had provided for her. Just completely ignored it. But... after a while, she seemed to migrate towards the apartment I had left her. She did make a half hearted attempt at finding her own place, but she was spending increasingly more time there each week.

I can understand that. Her friends were overwhelming on a good day... I can only imagine trying to readjust to them after all those weeks of quiet.

But, then, that was the underlying problem, now wasn't it?

Anyway, consider yourself sufficiently brought up to date and I shall return to my previous admission that I had continued to watch her.

While she tended to shy away from people and crowds, she thoroughly enjoyed the outdoors. Every time I came across her, she was either lying out in the sun or sitting by her open window.

Whether the fresh air and sun, or her irritating friends, or just the gradual realization of freedom, Christine had managed to put aside her indifference. I'm not sure if one could consider that an improvement--now she just seemed altogether depressed--but it was something.

She was lonely, despite all the people around her.

I am not such a good interpreter of emotions that I would have realized it on my own, either. Surely I noticed that she looked sad, but never would it have occurred to me that she could possibly be feeling alone. How could she, with all these friends trying to cheer her up? My sorry brain would never have made the connection.

Oddly enough, it took a cat to bring it to my attention.

She bought… found… somehow acquired a feline. I don't know where it came from or how she ended up with it. It was a mangled tortoiseshell thing with patchy fur and droopy eyes. It was a hideous specimen… but I'm not one to talk. She adored it, though.

One evening I saw her curled up with it by the window. She was stroking its scraggly head and talking to it.

"Nobody understands, do they? They all think they do… but they don't. Not really. No, how could they? I'm sorry, little fella, but it looks like we're all alone…"

I was… shocked.

Being alone was her greatest fear, you see. Loneliness is the one feeling I have always tried to keep from her. I thought all of that was assured when I sent her back into the hands of her friends. I had realized that I was not enough for her… I thought maybe she needed to be surrounded by all the other people that loved her. But now… to find that I had misjudged yet again…

Why on earth didn't it work?

I knew it was too late to do anything drastic. Though my sense of reasoning and moral justification was all but obliterated… somewhere, in the back of my head, was Christine's voice telling me that none of the brilliant plans I had already begun to spin should be acted upon. Sometimes I wonder if she truly is my conscience or if my mind just missed hearing her voice.

And so, since I couldn't do anything else, I just sat with her. Every night she and that ugly cat would sit silently by the window and I would sit silently outside and watch them, trying to muster up a sense of peace in my own troubled heart and somehow transplant it onto her with the sheer will of my mind alone.

It may have only been my imagination, but I think we both began to relax. I concentrated on breathing steadily… having finally found a reason to fight back the madness. And Christine would shut those haunted eyes of hers and rest her head on her arms. In fact, I was sure I had glimpsed the barest hint of a smile on her lips as she did this. That made my heart happy.


	45. Chapter 45

"I don't understand, Nadir. She's miserable when I kept her, she's miserable when I let her go… Why can't I seem to do anything right? Why isn't anything working the way it is supposed to?"

"How was it supposed to work?"

He had me there. I couldn't answer. Well, I could… but my answer seemed entirely contradictory. I wanted her to be happy with me, to love me and live as my wife. Barring that, I wanted her to be happy without me, to return to the miserable life she once lived and find joy in the fact that she was free from the hell she might have suffered.

"What am I doing wrong?" I begged, desperately needing the insight of a stable mind.

Nadir didn't speak for a full minute. I know that doesn't sound like a long time, especially in writing, but it is. People are more impatient than they realize. Try talking to your friend and then pause. After about seven seconds it starts to get awkward, doesn't it? A full sixty seconds of silence with a question hanging in the air was nearly torturous.

And that wasn't the only thing. Nadir… well, I'll be honest, that man disturbs me sometimes. Most people feel the need to fidget or fill the silence somehow. Even I tend to work my fingers or clench my fists. But not Nadir. He has the ability to remain absolutely still for long periods of time. That's probably why he was such a good detective--his ability to stand still and consider his surroundings without drawing attention to himself.

I wonder if he breathes. If I were to build a robot, I would model it after him.

Come to think of it, that's not a bad idea…

But that has nothing to do with the story. Lets move on.

Anyway, for a long time he just sat there giving me that scrutinizing stare that unnerves me so. I was the first one to break. "Speak, man! What does she want me to do?"

"Well…" he started slowly, "Have you considered asking her?"

"What?"

"It seems to me that, this whole time, you've been making decisions for Christine without her around. Now, hold on, friend, put your hands down. Just hear me out! I'm not denying that you are trying to do the right thing and _nobody _is doubting your love. I just think she might respond better if you ask her what she wants before acting."

I was annoyed and a little disgusted by his suggestion. What was I supposed to do? Knock on her door and ask for a date?

There was another pause. I was seething and he was calmly watching me. I hate that man.

"I need you to go talk to her, Nadir."

"Erik, that's not what I--"

"No, no… not that. I just need you to go make sure she is alright. You know, check up on her."

"Didn't you just tell me that you've been going to see her at night?"

"Yes, but that's different. She doesn't know I am there. If I show myself to her again, she'll think I've been stalking her or something. No, that won't do. I only have speculation to go on, Nadir… you've said it yourself. I need you to go find out if she's really as miserable as I think she is."

We argued for awhile. I don't know why he protests these things, it made perfect sense to me.

And it's not like I wanted him to mention me to her or any such thing. I had already resigned myself to my position in life as her secret guardian. I admitted that it was shameful of me to have ever wanted to rise above my station.

No, all I wanted was for him to talk to her and ask how she was coping.

Eventually he conceded. I am very persuasive.

--

"Did you speak to her?"

"No. I took the day off and went all the way over there just to turn around and come here without a word. I wanted to see your reaction."

"Do not play games with me, Nadir." I warned.

"Then stop asking inane questions, Erik. Of course I spoke with her."

"And…" I prompted, getting more irritated by the second. Why did I keep this man alive? No one else could toy with me in such a fashion and manage to draw another breath.

"And she said she was fine."

"She was lying."

"Of course she was lying. What did you expect?"

"Did she say anything else?"

"Well, she did ask for a newspaper so she could look at the want-ads."

"She's looking for a job?"

"So it would appear."

It made me more angry than was reasonable. Isn't that what I had taken her away from in the first place? A life of waitressing or house-cleaning or whatever while neglecting her music? She was meant to be a star! Not one of those silly girls who live paycheck to paycheck hoping to be discovered by someone who would make them famous.

Or maybe she would take a job in music--she had the training, after all. Maybe she would spend her days teaching music appreciation to a room of imbecilic children, all the while ignoring her true calling. Of course! Why bother having the voice of an angel when you could be teaching someone to play the recorder?

Looking back, I know what had truly upset me. I told myself that I was right to be upset that she had wasted all her training… or that she was denying the world the joys of her music. But, really it was more selfish than that. I couldn't care less about the rest of the world… I just couldn't bear the thought of never hearing her again. I had told her once that she could choose to become a great diva, or she could stay and sing only for me. I meant it then and I still believe it. The world can go hang itself. It is I who cannot live without that passionate voice that makes a grown man--a criminal, a cold-blooded killer--weep with happiness.

I snapped. "What happened, then? I told her to go to Raoul! He should have been taking care of her."

"Ahem, yes, along those lines… She asked me to remind you that she is a grown woman and not a possession to be _given _to whomever you see fit. She asked me to tell you that she will _go to _whomever she damn well pleases. Then she… ah… slapped me."

Well, well, well… my little doll had some spark left in her after all.

"You may consider the message sufficiently delivered. If you hit me, you will regret it."

"I figured as much."

--

Nadir left me thoroughly confused and emotionally exhausted. As un-masculine as it is for me to admit this, all I wanted to do was curl up into a little ball and cry.

I missed Christine.

I forced my uncooperative muscles up the stairs and, for the first time since she left, ventured into her old bedroom.

Oh. That was unwise. Oh… I hadn't realized how much more this would hurt. I just wanted to be near her… but this only reminded me of everything I had lost.

Her hairbrush and makeup still on the vanity, those ridiculous shorts and shirt she insisted on sleeping in were thrown haphazardly over the chair, looking like their owner was going to emerge from the bath at any moment and retrieve them. In the bathroom, her towel was still on the rack where she had left it to dry the morning she left.

I groaned. My chest hurts to think about it.

I brushed my hand over her desk, wondering if dust had begun to gather yet. Her diary was lying innocently on the desktop and I recollected all those times I'd seen her, hunched over and scribbling away.

I picked it up to examine it.

You may be wondering if I had any qualms against invading her privacy in that way. Well… I am not that noble. And you should know by now that I have done far worse things than peeking at a girl's diary.

But it was empty.

I was speechless; I flipped through the pages twice more, not believing that it could be completely blank. How was that possible? I had _seen _her writing!

_Maybe_--it occurred to me--_it had only happened in my head_. I had begun to wonder recently… you know, what's real or not. Sometimes I'd imagine things that…

Well, the fact that her scent lingered in the room brought me much comfort. It meant she actually _was _here at some point.

It's a bit hard to understand if you're not living it. Ah… well… how do I put it? Imagine the last three weeks of your life. Think about all the things you have said and done. Now… imagine suddenly realizing that only _half_ of those things actually happened. But… you don't know which half…

I trembled at the lack of control I was feeling.

I let the book fall as I gripped my head in both hands. My mind was screaming--I couldn't tell you if my lips echoed the sound--and my nails dug into my skull as I tried to detach it from my neck.

I missed Christine.

I stumbled into the closet. Yes, this was good. I liked this place. My fingers skimmed the different fabrics lining the walls. Her clothes. My Christine wore these things.

There was a dress hanging near the back. She hadn't worn it yet, but I remembered when I bought it. It was blue. Not cobalt or sapphire or turquoise, it was blue. Just blue. Just like her eyes… those gorgeous eyes that she, in more than one melodramatic teenage moment, claimed clashed with every piece of clothing ever made.

That's why I bought it. Because she was wrong. Her eyes were beautiful, just like the rest of her.

Roughly discarding the hard mask, I ripped the dress down from the hanger and rubbed the soft fabric against my face. The sensation of calm it brought me was…

I took it with me when I collapsed on the bed. Her pillow smelled like her, and I put my head on it while cuddling the blue dress under my chin like a child would a stuffed toy.

It felt good, you know, being around the things that she had touched. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine that she was still there. That's right… yes… she was only in the bathroom. She was brushing her teeth, you see… and she was just about to come and take a nap with me. We were going to take a walk later this evening, when it wasn't so warm out.

But something wasn't right.

And, before you ask--no, it was not the fantasy. That was perfect, and I had already begun to believe it was real. No… something didn't _feel_ right. I shifted a couple of times, trying to get comfortable, before I got up on my knees and started feeling around.

_Funny_, I thought, _the bed has never felt uncomfortable like this. It's almost like there's something under the mattress. _No, that wasn't right. There was something _inside the mattress. _


	46. Chapter 46

My curiosity progressed to a nearly fanatical level in just a few seconds. I threw off the blankets and removed the sheets.

And there it was, a thin tear in the lining of the mattress. It was so exact and close to the seem that I understand why it had gone unnoticed when the sheets were changed. I felt around it and slipped my hand inside. I was amazed to find it big enough to conceal the thick folder inside.

I pulled it out, not caring that I was tearing the mattress further. Yes, it was a folder stuffed with papers of all sorts. I recognized the notepad that she had taken from my office, pieces of the sketch paper and loose pages I had placed in the desk drawer, and even a few pages carefully extracted from the blank diary. Each one was covered in her loopy, girlish handwriting.

My hands were trembling and I briefly wondered if I truly wanted to know what was on those pages… but, in the end, I couldn't stop myself.

I don't know what I was looking for; I skimmed the first few pages, catching sentences here and there but not lingering too long on any one page.

…_I am afraid. Why am I here?_

…_I don't understand. He was my angel. I trusted him! How could he do this? How could I have been so stupid? _

…_I tried to escape, but I failed. I think part of me knew he would catch me, but I thought, if I just wanted it badly enough, I could do it. I should have known the world doesn't work that way._

…_I hate him. I hate him. I hate him… _

I couldn't bear to keep reading about how much she hated me. I knew she hated me… but to hear again and again just how much was too painful. And to read, in her own words, the betrayal she was feeling…

I cringed and skipped ahead a couple pages.

…_All this time alone has given me time to think. There is nothing else to do and so I am left with my thoughts. Sometimes I think that is the worst torture of all…_

…_He loves me. Or at least he says he does. But I think I believe him. Anyway, I can't help but wonder--is this my fault? He says he has loved me for so long. Perhaps I have been leading him along all this time without knowing it and this is my punishment. Maybe I had it coming. _

I choked and felt my stomach twist. Had she really thought that? I never meant for…

…_I change my mind about all that I said. This guy is a total psycho._

I scanned through a lot of this, noting how she seemed to vacillate between blaming herself and cursing me.

…_I am soooo bored. There is absolutely nobody here to talk to. I want Erik to come let me out of this room. I kind of want to talk to him--but only because there's no one else. Is that wrong of me?_

…_He can be such a jerk. I told him to take me home and he brought me back to this stupid room. Then he had the gall to pretend he didn't understand! I know he has all the power over me, but does he have to be such a butthead about it?_

Strange wording. I have been called many things in my life, but _jerk _and _butthead _were not on the list. What an odd girl she is. Sometimes I forget that she is only eighteen.

…_I took off his mask. I don't want to talk about it…_

That was good. I don't think I could have handled hearing about it.

…_All I will say is that things seem to make more sense now. He's still evil but… well, maybe not _evil_. Just broken. I think I should go talk to him. _

…_I feel sick for telling him the mask didn't matter. But, it's true. It's all irrelevant now. All I see is that _face_. Mask or not, I can't get the image out of my mind. Even if I were to go blind today, I doubt I would ever stop seeing it in my mind._

I wished I hadn't read that bit, but it's nothing I didn't know. I hated myself.

…_I can't help thinking that Erik might not be such a bad guy, after all. Ah! What am I _thinking_? Of course he is a bad guy. Look at where I am. Look at what he did to me!_

…_but I so desperately need someone to confide in. Even if it _is _him._

…_He is awfully smart, and he's been nothing less than kind to me after those first couple of days. But those first couple of days…_

…_every now and then I remember the angel I adored so much. _

…_I want to please him. Lord, help me, but I want him to be happy with me. _

…_but how can I forgive him after all he has done?_

…_I know it's wrong, but I keep having these _thoughts_, about what could be. I need to stop. It's wrong to feel comfortable around him. It feels _right_, you know? And I can't help but wonder…_

I remembered the date on the next page. Our wedding day. Naturally she ranted for a good couple of pages, but I was a little surprised at what she said. I had done everything to make this her dream wedding. I remembered all the little things she'd shared with me in the past… and I'd overheard some of the daydreams girlfriends share with one another. I knew how important these things were to women.

What surprised me was that she actually admitted to this. She wrote about how it fit her every fantasy, to the extent that she was "creeped out" by my seeming ability to look into her mind.

But, all that aside, she claimed feeling cheated. It was the oddest thing. I think I could understand… she imagined the man she loved coming to her on bended knee and asking for her hand. Of course she would have said refused and I would still have forced her--she even admitted as much in her writing--but, apparently the pretense was important to her.

You see, her writing was becoming more confused each day. She had these ideas of what she wanted, but she couldn't understand why they were important to her or why she was feeling guilty for wanting them.

I continued to read, trying to calm the onslaught of rapid-fired emotions. I responded to each of the feelings Christine described as she went through what I can only imagine to be a painful transformation. I felt her conflict as she struggled with her slowly building feelings for a murderer and kidnapper.

…_I did the most horrible thing, and I don't know if I can forgive myself. I planted a letter to Raoul for Erik to find. I was desperate. I wanted him to get angry and lash out or hurt me or _something _that would convince me to stop falling in love with him. Instead he just looked so hurt. He gave me the most heart wrenching look and left the room. I am not so ignorant of my own feelings--the fact that I feel so terrible over breaking his heart shows just how lost I truly am. _

I think this page affected me more than any other in the collection. She planted that letter? She _wanted _me to find that treacherous letter to the boy?

It makes sense, in a way. After all, it was right there under her pillow. Why else would she have chosen such an obvious place when she was clearly (if this secret diary was any indication) capable of much more clever ways to hide things from me?

Perhaps I should have seen the tactic for what it was. I used to do it all the time, myself, actually. So often I would hide mischievous things in places I knew my mother would discover. You know… to make her feel like she was doing a good job. I'd quietly take whatever punishment she had whenever she uncovered a slingshot or box of matches under my bed. She's hold her head slightly higher on those days, satisfied that she had thwarted another of my grand schemes. In my own childlike way… I did love her.

Anyway, I had other hiding places for anything truly incriminating.

But I had not expected such a clever deception from Christine. Who knew that she could be so… sneaky?

She switched to a different kind of paper--I recognized it from the hotel I'd taken her to--and wrote some of the longest entries yet. They started as threads of sentences and single words that evolved into long narration as she sorted out her feelings. It conjured a picture of one standing on a precipice and, after much deliberation, finally realizing that… perhaps they might like falling, after all.

I remembered the night I left to return that man _alive_. Sure she had plenty to say about what she had seen that morning--most notably the realization that she could no longer delude herself that I was not every bit as evil as she originally thought--but that wasn't what caught my eye.

…_I can't fall asleep without him. I'm going to try sleeping in his bed--maybe that will help. Yes, I will wait for him there. Despite all that has happened… I still hope he comes home soon. _

And there it was. The moment it dawned on her: not that she loved me--no, not yet, anyway--but that she could not do without me.

From there it only went downhill… or uphill, depending on your perspective.

…_I'm tired of fighting. I just want to be his. _

And then, the breaking point. The moment where all my worries began…

…_I always thought I would hate myself if I ever gave in and fell for him. But I don't feel anything at all. I just have this overwhelming sense that all is as it should be. I feel so indifferent about everything. I've put my life and heart in his hands, and the only thing I feel strongly--strong enough to fight for--about, is that I never, ever want them back. _

Something about that tugged on my heart. She did love me. She loved me because I had driven her to it--because she was mad--but she loved me just the same. She loved me to the extent that she still had a bit of fight in her… if only for that reason.

I suppose that explains her anger with Nadir. I had hurt her. Badly.

The thing is… I had never given her a chance to fight me. I had just sent her away and disappeared. I hadn't even given her a choice in the matter.

What have I done?

It may have been wrong to kidnap her. If that is the case… it was equally wrong to send her away.

I had to fix this. I would fix it. I refused to believe what I had done was beyond repair. It couldn't be. If it was, I knew I would die… I would see to it personally. And, if there was truth to anything I had just read… she'd be no better off. And that was the worst part of all.

--

By the time I had finished reading, it was very late, which was unfortunate because I found myself charged and ready to go bring her back. But, no. The last thing she needed was for me to go pounding down her door or crawling through her window in the middle of the night.

I had one chance and one chance only to make this work. I _had _to do it right… even if it meant an uncomfortable amount of patience. I _would succeed…_ for both our sakes. Failure was not an option.

I would be patient and non-threatening if it killed me. I was willing to wait as long as it took to win her. I was willing to beg if it came to it. I'd get on my knees and give her a proper proposal, if it was so important to her.

Hell, I would have tea and cookies with that idiot boy if it would get me back into her good graces. I am eternally grateful that it never came to that, but the fact remains--I would have done anything at that point.

If it took a thousand years and every ounce of my pride, I would bring my girl home.

_--_


	47. Chapter 47

I wasn't sure what time was considered socially acceptable to go knocking on one's door--I'd never cared for such things before--so I decided to play it safe and wait until 9 o'clock before I went over there. It was hard, let me tell you! I paced in front of my door for hours waiting for the exact moment when I could leave the house. If it had been up to me, I would have gone over much earlier and just waited in the car… but nothing screams 'stalker' like a black vehicle circling your apartment for three hours.

At nine precisely, I knocked on her door.

No answer.

I'll admit it--I panicked. This was the sanest I'd been in awhile… I didn't want a minor setback to risk compromising it. I needed to present Christine with a clear mind. She deserves no less.

My next stop was the apartment office. While the idea of talking to someone in person is… distasteful… I thought they might have some helpful information.

"I need to contact Christine Daae."

The mousy woman at the front desk didn't even look up.

"She left this morning. I told her she couldn't… she had to give 30 days notice. She just left her keys and walked out. I'm just thankful the apartment is all paid up… but she still left me with all this paperwork. Inconsiderate girl, if you ask me."

"_I didn't ask you_," I hissed. I just wanted to know where she was, not what some insignificant paper-pusher thought of her.

I slammed my hand on the desk, halting her work and forcing her to look up at me. She jumped, but it was the fear and shock upon seeing my face that was too much. I had gotten used to the way Christine looked at me without flinching… the look on this woman gave me made me snap. I launched myself over the counter and grabbed her by the throat. _That's right, woman… I shall give you something to fear…_

Her eyes went wide as I squeezed ever so slightly on her throat… not enough to hurt her, but I imagine it was pretty frightening just the same. I would have killed her in a snap… but Christine would have found out. She always found these things out. Then she'd be angry and I would have ruined my chances.

"_Where is she?" _I asked. In that moment I knew… absolutely _knew… _that the worker had done something to her and taken her away from me. She had hidden Christine and was keeping her from me or…

"I don't know!" she insisted, "She just told me she was leaving… she didn't say where… didn't leave a forwarding address."

I sighed, and shook my head. _How utterly frustrating_. I pressed my fingers into her the sides of her neck--_one… two… three… four…--_until her eyes rolled back and she passed out. Then I lifted her up and settled her back in the chair, carefully and gently as possible.

"It is fine," I said soothingly. "I know you do not know anything. Sleep now… I know you are tired."

I stepped back and looked upon the scene I had just caused. I was experiencing feelings I was not accustomed to. It was odd… I had always experienced a rush of satisfaction with such things… but this time it was mixed with… _sadness? Regret? _

There was not time to dwell on such things. There were more important matters to attend to. I turned off my emotions, watching indifferently as my world became black and white. I was all business.

I glanced at the clock. She would be out for another twenty minutes, at least. Plenty of time. I grabbed the keys off the desk and went back to Christine's apartment.

I should have expected it, considering all the information I had just gathered, but I was still shocked that she was not there. Her furniture remained but her sparse belongings (she is the antithesis of a pack-rat) were boxed haphazardly, as if done in a hurry, and marked for charity pickup.

_There is still hope, _I told myself, _this was only the first stop. _

It was true. I had already made a mental list of the many possible places I might find her. It was fine. This could mean any number of things. Perhaps she had moved in with Meg Giry, or Mrs. Valerius… there were many possibilities. It was fine. I would still find her.

Then why was I having trouble breathing?

Mostly to settle my own uneasiness, I visited the boy's house first. Best get that out of the way, I decided, before I let my mind torture me with jealous thoughts.

How convenient that he was sitting there, waiting outside for me. I felt disturbingly gleeful at the idea of this particular interrogation. Maybe because I had fantasized about it more than once.

And yet… something stopped me. Something about the dejected look on the young man's face told me that I would not find Christine here. He sat sullenly on the front steps while holding a cell phone to his ear.

"Yeah, I know. I guess I should have seen it coming… especially after the way she's been acting the last couple of weeks. I still wish I could go kill the guy who made her like this… I know… yes… I know… it's just that, I really thought she was the one. I don't know. Yes. I'm okay, I guess. No, I don't really feel like going out right now. Yeah. I call you later. Okay. Bye, bro."

If I wasn't so worried about experiencing the same thing, myself, I might have felt some pity for the boy. To have his heart broken by the one truly perfect girl on earth…

I would never have admitted it then but, looking back on things… well, let's put it this way--if I had simply met Raoul de Chagny on the street one day, I would have moved on with my life without giving him a second glance. And, there is a fair chance he'd say the same about me. But, the day he unknowingly became my rival, all bets were off. I had nothing against him personally… he just can't have Christine. She is mine.

Anyway, satisfied he knew nothing of consequence, I moved on.

I visited Mrs. Valerius next. I took a quick scan around the perimeter before deciding to call her on the telephone. No need to risk another a reoccurrence of the morning's events. Besides, my voice can be very persuasive on its own without all the… extra… intimidating… ah… things.

"Madam Valerius,"

"Yes, who is this?"

"Just a friend of Miss Daae."

"What do you mean 'a friend'? How did you get this number?" she paused. I could sense her pulse quicken and her breath speed up. "Are you… are you who I think you are? Are you the one who stole Christine away?"

"Now, now, my dear," I purred. I could just nearly hear her sigh over the phone. _Not so suspicious now, are we?_ "Why would you accuse me of such things? The way I understand it, she disappeared of her own accord. Is that not what she told you?"

"But… but…"

"Come now, Madam. There is no need for such hostility. This is no way to treat a friend, now is it? And we are friends, are we not?"

I spoke slowly and deliberately, watching from the window as she put her hand to her chest and fell into a nearby sofa.

"Yes. Yes, friends…"

"That is right, Dorothy. May I call you Dorothy?"

"Yes… of course you may…"

"Very well, Dorothy. I simply called to see if you knew the whereabouts of our dear Christine Daae."

"Oh yes… Christine…"

I saw her put her hand to her head as if that would help her think more clearly. It made me frown a bit… it was clear she was trying to please me, but was so far unsuccessful.

"I have not seen her for over a week now. Come to think of it… I would like to know where she is as well. Do you have any idea where I might find her?"

I hung up. She knew nothing; there was no need to further the conversation.

I had last seen Christine the night before last, when I sat by her window. My information was, therefore, more up-to-date than anyone else's seemed to be. I wondered how long she had been ignoring everyone.

--

I suppose I could give you an account of every last house and corner I searched… but I believe I have kept you here long enough. So, suffice it to say…

I could not find her.

To say I was concerned is to say the Great Wall of China is an impressively large fence.

I had just come from the little college she had enrolled in… hoping against hope I'd find her in the last place I could think of to look. Hope has never been particularly friendly with me.

When I feel out of control, I picture my mind as a fortress. A fortress with high stone walls that separate me from the ripples of madness that swarm the outside, looking for a weak point large enough to get in. I imagine reinforcing each crack, forcefully pushing out the poisonous thoughts that threaten to overcome me.

You must think it all sounds so dreadfully melodramatic. I tell you what--if you are ever in a position where find yourself fighting for each precious moment of sanity, you can deal with it however you want. Until then, leave me be.

Anyway, in my mind, it is _Christine _who is patching those fractures and reinforcing those weak points. _She _is the one who keeps my mind protected and stable. Because… without her… I am just too tired to do so.

I could not stop thinking about her. I had everything planned out, you see. I would go to her, offer whatever apologies I could come up with. I would ask to take her out somewhere… maybe a walk in the park. Yes, a walk would be nice. That's all I've ever wanted anyway.

And if she refused--and I had accepted the possibility that she might--I would take her rejection with a nod, tell her I loved her… and return tomorrow.

It was all I could do, really. My life and my sanity were in her hands… but I would not tell her so. There would be no more ultimatums… no more threats. I would pursue her to my dying breath, but never again would I frighten her.

But… if I could not find her… well, that was a different story altogether. If something had happened to her, the whole city would pay. I… I had planted explosives… in the sewer system. Enough to take out several city blocks. It was long ago… back in my youth. I don't know why I did it. I don't know why I do a lot of things.

They probably would not take much to make active again. A few minor adjustments and all I'd have to do is…

_I must not think like that. _

I knelt on the ground and tried to compose myself.

I remembered how she used to come to me every evening and sit at my feet while I read to her. I learned from her diary that it didn't matter what I read--I believe her exact words were "it could have been a phonebook, for all I care"--she just liked hearing my voice. Made her feel normal, she said. As if my voice was the one constant in her troubled world.

She also liked the way I played with her hair. She said her father used to do that when she was upset. Although, she admitted that there was nothing fatherly about my touch. I confess that, monstrous as I may be, I am still male, and every bit as susceptible to the swell of masculine pride that comes from such an admission. It stroked my ego, if nothing else.

And so that is what I tried to hold on to. I shut my eyes and rocked softly on my heels, trying to recreate those evenings in my head. I tried to concentrate on the book in my hand, her head on my knee, her soft hair between my fingers. I focused on her beautiful voice that echoed in the back of my mind, telling me not to give in… to do the right thing.

_You can do this, Erik. I trust you. Be strong for me…_

I went back to the apartment, since there was nothing else to do, and saw that the police were surrounding the place. It was to be expected, really, after the fiasco I had caused in the office earlier. Ah well. Hopefully Nadir wouldn't come pounding on my door any time soon. I wasn't in the mood for that.

I decided not to tread further; there was no need to draw more attention to myself. So… I just… started… walking.

I needed to think… _truly think _of what to do next and not dwell on the possibility of failure. And so, I walked, holding a quiet deliberation with myself over whatever my next strategy would be. To an innocent passerby, I must have cut quite a disturbing figure--a masked man with glowing eyes, mumbling to himself and glaring at everything in his wake.

There were still many options. Of course my first stop would be the computer; if she bought a plane ticket or used a bank card, I could easily find out. I was fairly confident I could even track a possible fake ID or pseudonym, if I talked to the right people… but I had a feeling Christine wouldn't go that route.

Anyway, I walked without direction, letting my feet go where they wanted while my mind focused on more important things.

Have you ever taken a route so often that you can walk it without conscious thought? That must have been what happened because, when I finally looked up again, I found myself at the foot of that same music school where I had first begun this journey so many years ago.

The building was exactly the same as it has always been, completely ignorant of the joys and pains found within its walls.

Part of me wanted to burn it down.

But… I couldn't. Since I had nothing better to do, I went inside.

I meandered down the empty halls, thankful that everyone was gone for the summer but, at the same time, missing the distraction of trying to prowl around unnoticed. And I truly could use a distraction about then.

I passed the hidden entrance to my secret place behind Practice Room 5 and gave in to the urge to go inside. I thought… well… I thought maybe the memories might inspire me. I would not give up on finding her… but I honestly had run out of places to look. Perhaps our old practice space would help me think.

I had prepared myself for the pain… you know… the agony of remembering was and what might have been. What I hadn't prepared myself for was the sight that greeted me on the other side of the two-way mirror.

Christine.

There she was, huddled on the floor in the corner of the practice room, twisting the ring on her finger and crying her eyes out. My joy combined with heartbreak. But… at least I had found her.

As controlled as I could manage to keep myself in such a situation, I opened the door and went to her, ignoring the ugly cat, hissing at me from under the piano.

Christine didn't look up for a long time and I wondered if she even registered my presence. It startled me a bit to hear her speak, finally.

"You didn't come," she cries, "I… I waited for you… by the window… like always. But you didn't come. I thought… oh, I thought that…"

She trailed off as her sobs returned in earnest. When she buried her head back in her arms, I ventured further in the room. I sank to my knees in front of her… but I did not touch her. I should have… she needed it… but I was afraid.

And there we sat for an eternity, each of her tearful hiccups ripping my heart out as I tried to figure out what I should do.

She froze--her violent sobs reduced to sniffles--when I took her hand in mine.

I ran my finger over the ring I had given her. If you twisted it just so, you could see a faint tan line on her finger. She had not taken it off. We both stared at it for the longest time, until the only sound left in the room was our labored breathing. The air seemed heavier, somehow… and I felt like I couldn't get enough oxygen. Yet, I did not dare move.

"Why did you come here?" I whispered.

"I couldn't leave you."

Her eyes were… sort of sparkly… when she finally looked up at me.

"Why did you come here?" she whispered back.

"I couldn't let you go."

And then it happened--face still wet with tears despite the ridiculous smile, she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me. She kissed me. Not the emotionless pecks, coaxed from a doll… but the kind of kiss a wife gives her husband.

She kissed me.

After a split second of shock, I kissed her back. Tentatively, I put my hands on her hips, constantly wondering when she would pull back in horror. When she did not, I ventured across her cheek, kissing her ear and jaw and neck.

I still remember the sweet little whimpers she made. And the way her tears had felt on the side of my neck. And the way my pretend-nose kept bumping into her. I've never been so annoyed about wearing a mask.

I continued to kiss her like that until, all of a sudden, her arms tightened hard and pulled me into the fiercest hug imaginable. I hugged her back as best I could, shushing the little part of me that wondered if I would be allowed to breathe again. As sickeningly romantic as it sounds… air seemed rather unimportant at the time.

"Take me home," she commanded.

She had said that to me many times since she knew me as Erik… but, this once, I found myself more than happy to oblige.

* * *

**Well, folks. There you have it. I'll be posting an epilogue in a few days. Thanks for reading!**

* * *


	48. Epilogue

The cool air startled awake any part of me that was still groggy. If the silly girl had the nerve to run from me… _again… _I hoped she'd at least had the foresight to bring a coat. There would be no words to describe my irritation if I found she'd made herself sick trying to escape me.

Too bad I never get sick, or I'd turn the tables on her in a flash. That'd teach her. Foolish girl.

What was she even _thinking_? Didn't she realize it was only a matter of time before I captured her again? No… this was not a clever move on her part at all.

But, enough complaining… I _had _to find her.

The predator in me came alive and my ears and eyes became more attentive. I could sense her fear… her panic. She knew I was coming.

I noticed an imprint in the soil beside a raised tree root. She must have tripped. If I followed the pattern of broken twigs and out-of-place leaves, I could begin to track her progress.

I did so slowly and methodically. There was no rush… she would not be getting far.

A gust of wind blew around me and my face twisted into a grin that could only be described as feral.

I had caught her scent.

That glorious fragrance had been on my mind since I rolled over that morning to be met with a still warm but empty pillow. I remember how my eyes had snapped open and my hand reflexively felt the bare sheets beside me, confirming what I already knew.

She was gone.

Ah. But now I had found her.

"_It is only a matter of time now, my lovely_." I said into the wind.

She had played an awful trick on me to make me sleep so soundly this morning. She'd kept me up late, singing and reading and whatnot… she had tricked me with her feminine wiles and exhausted me. If I had known what deception she was plotting, perhaps it would have made a difference.

But I doubt it.

Besides… she had to have been just as exhausted as I was. And she had been running, while I was walking just as leisurely as if this had been nothing more than a morning stroll. She couldn't keep this up much longer.

As if on cue, I heard a branch snap behind me. I quietly maneuvered myself behind one of the larger tree trunks. Her scent was stronger now, despite the wind, and her harsh breathing was deafening.

She froze, like a rabbit who senses a wolf, suddenly unsure of which way to run and seeing no adequate hiding places. Her back was to me. _Wrong move, Christine._

"Erik?" she called quietly, her voice quivering as she looked directly at a nearby tree.

"_Guess again_," I said from behind her.

Without giving her time to react, I tackled her to the ground. I turned my body slightly so as to take the impact on myself--I am a gentleman, after all--but quickly rectified the situation once we landed, by flipping her over and pinning her hands above her head.

She twisted and fought my hold on her and squealed when I leaned down to nuzzle her neck.

"Let me go!" she shrieked.

"I think we both know the answer to that, my dear," I chuckled, as I kissed her ear.

Meanwhile, I had transferred both her wrists to one hand. I needed the other free so I could--and this is purely a scientific experiment, mind you, with no ulterior motive--see just how far I could get my hand up her shirt without her noticing. She struggled… but I have learned to ignore such trivialities.

Suddenly a thought crossed my mind and I pulled back abruptly.

"After all these years… you still run from me?" I asked

The infuriating woman had the audacity to _smirk _at me. "Don't look so hurt, Erik," she said, "I know your secret."

Well, that piqued my interest. "And what might that be."

She whispered conspiratorially, "You _like _to chase me!"

I considered her for a moment: face flushed from her running, wild hair--now adorned with the radiant silver flecks she had become so self-conscious over--sprawled around her head, her breath coming out in short pants.

I narrowed my eyes a bit. "Be that as it may… but… if I didn't know better… I'd say you love to be caught."

She had since stopped trying to squirm out of my hold on her and I took advantage of the fact, finally touching her the way _I _wanted to. She stilled and shut her eyes as my one free hand traced ever so lightly down her jaw line. My fingertips glided over every contour of her face… her lips… her cheekbones… her shuttering eyelids.

I imagine this is going to sound rather frivolous considering how many times I have mentioned that I love Christine… but I really, really _like _her. It is true… I feel good when I am around her. She makes me smile and laugh and think. And, in time like these… she is just fun to play with.

She's like the best friend I never had. Hmm… well… as Nadir comes to mind, I believe I should make an amendment: she's like the best friend I never plan to strangle.

Everything about her, from her vibrant laugh to her charming spirit, is so very… _nice_.

And so very _mine_… which makes it all the more perfect.

"You caught me sooner this time." she whispered, leaning into my hand.

"Well, panic will do that to a man. Really, Christine, that is no way to wake a tired husband first thing in the morning."

"Perhaps that husband deserves a reward, then, for all his trouble."

"You think so?" I asked, moving away enough to allow her to wriggle out from under me. I stood first and offered her my hand. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well…" she started. I wasn't sure I liked the wicked gleam in her eye. Although, that thought vanished the second she kissed me.

"I…" she said, kissing me again--she spoke slowly, punctuating each word with another kiss--"…think… you… should… go inside… and…"

Then she kissed me hard enough to make my head spin. "And?" I rasped. There should be a law against this kind of torture.

"And… come sing with me!"

On that note, she turned and practically skipped towards the house, cheerful as can be. In that strange moment, she seemed every bit like the girl I fell in love with years ago… who became the woman I fall more in love with each passing day.

I admired her even as she dragged me, by the hand, into the house. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes glittery and her smile… oh, her smile…

Anyway, as she impatiently tugged on my arm, I couldn't help but think…

_This_ is what I wanted… what I had in mind. A real, living bride of my own.

And I am happy.

--

**The End.**


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